Rise of Power
by foscari
Summary: The sisters' world and Harry Potter's collided in the battle for the final war. DISCONTINUED.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Rise of Power

Rating: PG-13 Category: Adventure/Action/Humor

Sub-category: Crossover/AU

Feedback: Yes, please. Praises, comments and constructive criticism welcomed.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: The world of the sisters and Harry Potter collide in the final war against the Dark Lord.

Disclaimer: Charmed belongs to Constance M. Burge and WB. Harry Potter and all its characters and places belong to JK Rowling. I own nothing, so no suing, please.

AN: I am using both the written English and the American English for the story, for the sake of differentiating the speech and language. So, if you noticed a spelling of a word that is strange to you, there's no need to panic. There'll be a smattering of British phrases which I picked up from too much tv and books. My description and knowledge of Harry Potter and his world comes mostly from the movies and information online. (Harry Potter Lexicon is the best, it's where I get the spells from.) I plan to read the HP books but until they stop making the movie, I won't be picking one up to read it anytime soon and spoiling my enjoyment of the silver screen adaption. I am apologizing in advance for any mistakes made in the HP details.

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**- Chapter One -**

Three a.m. The hour of the wolf.

The street was silent at this ungodly hour. There was no one about, save for the occasional howl from some neighbour's dog being left out in the cold. It had rained earlier in the evening, the downpour washing away the dust and dirt from the asphalt, cooling the warm temperature considerably. It made the people in their beds turned over, burrowing deeper under their blankets and settle more deeply into sleep.

Somewhere in the distant, came a loud wail. It came from a two storey house with a pleasant enough looking garden. From the window, a single flicker of light was seen then followed by a sudden eerie, green flash of light. It was over so quick, it looked like it must have been a trick of an eye. Inside the house, huddling on the floor, clutching at the two small children was a man in his early forties. His dark hair had a touch of grey in them. His face had been handsome in his younger years but it was now lined with care and tiredness that comes with age. He was portly around the middle, obviously letting himself go after his marriage.

Both his children were whimpering with fright, huddling close to their father, burying their faces into his thinning bathrobe, not wanting to see the body that lay before them. Their mother had died a painful death, having subjected to the torture inflicted upon her from their attackers. She lay motionless on the cold, hard floor, eyes wide, mouth opened in silent scream, her body twisted in agony during her final moments before they put her out of her misery.

Now, the black robed figures moved from her, surrounding the man and his children. The man clutched his children to him closer and tightly, almost choking them but they didn't seem to notice in their terror. He himself forced his head up, meeting with his assailants' faces. The hoods were drawn on their faces, covering their identities from him. He didn't need to see them to know who they are, he knew them. Perhaps not well enough but knew them well enough to know who he was facing with.

"Do not harm the children, please," he begged, as wetness fell down his round face. He was afraid. "I beg of you. Leave them be."

"I do not recall asking you to speak." One of the robed figures stepped forward, wand pointing at him. His voice was cold as the first winter frost and as icy, with no emotions behind it. The man recognized the tone, knew it, having often heard it in his life.

"Lucius? Lucius, please!" he cried, letting go of his children, crawling to the man's feet. "I beg of you, let them be. They're only little."

"True but they carry the same filthy muggle blood in their veins," the man known as Lucius said coldly. "You brought this upon yourself, McBride. Know that it is not my wish for this to happen to you but the Dark Lord's." He lifted his wand up, jabbing it at the children who were cowering, petrified, their noisy sobs joining their father's.

"Avada Kedavra." The curse was whispered and the jet of eerie green light shot out from the tip of the wand and struck the man on his head. A quick and painless death. There was no need for the man to suffer anymore than needed.

"Finish them off," said Lucius, pocketing his wand. Two of the robed followers stepped forward, pointed their wands at the children and spoke the curse. The bodies slumped against each other, tear tracks still visible on their faces.

In the starless sky, the haunting green mark appeared above the home of Abraham McBride, speaking volumes of the deed that had been done and to serve as a warning to all.

In their homes, the muggles sleep on, oblivious to what was going on.

The Ministry was in an uproar. People hurrying to and forth, clutching pieces of parchments and quills, frantic and worry, as they headed about to their respective places. Calls were made and answered, queries were put on hold, reassurances were given to the stricken families. Every now and then, someone would Apparate in with a pop, heads would look up then went back to their work, as the person will make his or her way down the hallway with a grim expression. There was a group of magical family standing by the doorway, asking anyone who passed by them what was going to happen, who was going to handle it, and what were they going to do about it?

"Tragic, really tragic," someone said in hushed tones.

"Senseless, I'll say," declared another. "You-Know-Who is coming into power and soon the Ministry will not be able to protect us."

"Hush up, Liam!" the first said. She spotted someone familiar tramping down the hallway, face somber and pale. The red hair identify him easily, even from far away. There weren't too many magical families with hair as red as the man's.

"Mr Weasley!" she called, hurrying to meet him, as Liam followed her. The rest of their family remained by the corridor. "Mr Weasley!"

Arthur Weasley had been woken up far too early for his liking at the ungodly hour of five a.m. this morning by an urgent message from the Ministry. He had arrived at the office at eight to see people milling about, shouting out questions at him, demanding answers from him, telling him what he should be doing. It didn't help that the reporters from the Daily Prophet were among the crowd in front of the building. The deaths of the McBride family had created headlines around the magical community, it was what everyone was talking about this morning.

It was now nearing two in the afternoon, and his stomach reminded him he had yet eaten, and here was Mrs Fields coming after him, probably to lecture him on how to safeguard the citizens or some other. He stopped in his tracks, waiting for her to come up to him. Her husband was trailing after her, his face sullen.

"A good afternoon to you, Mrs Field," said Arthur.

"Good indeed!" Liam snorted. "Another family had been killed by Death Eaters. That's the second in this week, Arthur. What are you going to do about it to ensure our safety?"

"Liam, please." Maggie Fields turned to her husband with an exasperate expression that was joined by weariness. "I apologize for his manners, Mr Weasley. It's just that – well, in such difficult times, it's hard not to be jumpy and short tempered."

"I'll say," cut in Liam, and was silenced by a sharp jab in the ribs.

"I wondered if there is anything we can do, Mr Weasley. Heavens know it's such a tragic thing to happen to them. Poor, poor Abe. He never had a mean bone in his body, and those children – ! Never having to grow up to the decent adults they will be. I heard that Marian died a horrible death."

"Maggie, you want to let Arthur hear about your opinion or tell him? He ain't got all day, you know." Liam was starting to get impatient at his wife's ramblings. She tended to go overboard.

Arthur Weasley smiled tightly at them. "Mrs Field, we're doing the best we can in such a situation. Aurors have been send down to the home, and I'm sure we can settle this as soon as possible."

"That's what they all say," Liam sneered. "When bodies start pillin' up, then you all go into action, and by then, it's too late. You-Know-Who is moving, getting ready his army for battle and where will we end up?"

Maggie shushed her husband with a sharp slap on the arm, turning back to Arthur. "I'm really sorry, Mr Weasley."

"Quite understandable, Mrs Fields." Arthur smiled down at her kindly before continuing his way to his office. He could hear her scolding her husband as he walked away.

"The man is trying his best," she was saying.

"This is a disaster, Arthur," someone said the moment he entered his office.

The man was tall and well built, with thinning salt and pepper hair. He had a mustache on his face which was rather red at the moment, probably due to the incessant people all around clamoring him for attention earlier. Mr Wendell Marley was an efficient man, liking his business to run smoothly with no problems whatsoever. At the moment, he was anything but efficient and calm. He was flustered, nervous, worried.

"We have people running about in a panic, some reporter putting false news into people's ears and a whole bunch of angry people demanding to know what are we going to do about it." Wendell wiped his face with his red checkered handkerchief.

"We have sent the Aurors out to investigate and to cover up any magical leakage from last night, Wendell." Arthur came around the man, his desk and sat behind it. Even the bright sun shining into his office failed to lift his spirits up at the moment.

"Investigate? Investigate, you say, Arthur?" Wendell gave his friend an incredulous look. "There is no need to investigate any further. It's the work of You-Know-Who and his followers. The Mark in the sky should have made it clear as day, Arthur Weasley! The Ministry is in an uproar over it. We have shield the people from the first three deaths so far but this – this takes the cake. Arthur," Wendell's voice turned somber and grave. "Dark times are nearing, You-Know-Who is rising in power, he is exerting his control over the community. We need to prepare the magical community for this war. We cannot avoid the issue any longer."

Arthur Weasley looked out the window with a heavy heart. He had never thought of taking over Fudge's place in the ministry, least of all this position. He didn't want to alarm the people and yet he knew that Wendell was right. He cannot hold back information any longer. The Dark Lord was moving and planning his attack at the very moment he was debating on what to do.

"Very well, Wendell," he said with a deep sigh. "Gather the reporters and people around. I have an announcement to make."

The young woman looking about to be in her early twenties, knelt on the wooden floor, took out her wand and tapped it against the outline of a chalk, muttering a spell. The area flashed white then replayed the scene from the wee hours before. She remained kneeling at the spot, watching as the images replayed themselves before her in silent mode. No need for the sounds to disturb the others who were working around her. She forwarded the part where Sally McBride was being placed under the Cruciatus Curse to the scene where Abraham McBride literally begged for his life at the feet of one of the Death Eaters. She thanked Merlin she didn't added sound to the replay, the images alone were enough to disturbed her. No matter how many times she had done this job before, it still left a bitter taste in her mouth at the cruelty of some people. She was suddenly glad that the children would not live to suffer through the nightmare, and scolded herself for feeling that way but, one could not help feeling that way after what was seen.

"-- just bloody awful, you know?" someone was saying from behind her. "Hermione, anything much?"

Hermione Granger got up from her position on the floor, dusting her robes, turning around to face the person who asked. Seeing him brought a slight smile to her face, despite the dreariness of the job and the house. He was tall, easily over six feet, with a mop of red hair that was neatly combed and bright blue eyes peering down at her. He wasn't handsome but good looking enough for her. She had known him since she was eleven, almost half of her childhood.

Ronald Weasley was still the same person as he was back in Hogwarts. His temper was as famous as the red hair that associate themselves with the Weasley name. It amazed her that he was able to make it to be an Auror. She would have thought he might be playing professional Quidditch, considering he talked about the sport non stop during his school years. Next to Ron was the infamous Harry Potter. Dark unruly hair that refused to stay in place, sharp green eyes. While Ron was tall as a beanstalk, Harry was built lean. The familiar round rimmed glassed framed his face.

"Death Eaters were here," Hermione replied. "Harry."

"Of course, it's Death Eaters," Ron snipped at her. "It's so obvious. I mean, who else cast an Unforgiveable Curse on a family of muggles? A muggle? We should just arrest the whole lot of them on the spot."

"We know that, Ron, but as usual, we can't seem to able to do much." Hermione was frustrated herself. Every case like this always leads to a dead end. The clues were there but without much proof, they were unable to arrest those associated with the crime. Her job in the forensic department meant she had to study each and every prints or fabric or hair left behind, and gather enough evidence for the rest of the ministry to take action.

"The Ministry is afraid to take action," Harry reasoned. "It will be quite chaotic should they announce to everyone that Voldemort is now rising and everything is going to end as they know it."

"Harry!" hissed Hermione at him.

"I'm not afraid to speak his name," Harry protested. "'Mione, I'm twenty two years old and I shouldn't be afraid of him."

"No, of course not. Unless he's pointing his wand at your face and says the Killing Curse," Hermione said pleasantly.

"She got you there, mate." Ron grinned then sobered up when he remembered where they were. They fell silent, staring at the floor where the chalk outlines of where the bodies were before in the early hours. "Bloody awful. Stupid Death Eaters. Stupid You-Know-Who."

"Ron!" Hermione looked aghast at him.

"Well, it is!" insisted Ron. "Another family dead in the name of You-Know-Who, and everyone's cowering around, too afraid to actually do anything about it. It's going to be covered up like the three cases before us. Nobody's arresting any Death Eaters from the murders, even though we got all the bloody evidence pointed at them!"

"I supposed you can march up to their houses and Stupefy them all?" Hermione asked dryly.

"Not funny, 'Mione." Ron's jaw was clenched tight. She realized he was upset about this, angry even for such senseless killings. She was angry herself but there was nothing much she can do. It wasn't like back when they were fifteen at that time, able to take on the Death Eaters with the help of Dumbledore and the Order.

"Sorry," she said, touching his arm gently.

"Ron is right. This is just another senseless killing." Harry was staring ahead at the spot where the family had died, eyes hard. "They won't stop until they rid the world of every impure blood, until they rid of me."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione saw through him. He was filled with regret, guilt, sorrow. She knew him well enough to know, after all, they had been friends since they were eleven. "It's not your fault."

"And don't you go blaming yourself for it," Ron added, quickly pushing his own anger aside. "You-Know-Who has been doing this before you were even born. He's been after those who opposes him from start. Harry, it's not your fault. No one's blaming you for it."

"Then why do I feel as if it is? Whenever I look at something like this, I feel as if everyone's whispering about me, talking about me behind my back, wondering when is the great Harry Potter going to take the Dark Lord down." Harry turned to them, his expression giving them a glimpse of the boy he had been before.

"No one's making you do anything, Harry." Ron grasped his best friend's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "No one's blaming you for anything. Look at them." He pointed.

They looked to see the other Aurors going about in their work. No one was stopping by them to tell them to get back to work nor was there anyone who was pointing at them.

"I just feel that I should be doing something," said Harry, after a look around.

"Like what, march right up to You-Know-Who and asked him nicely not to kill those poor people?" Ron jibbed.

"Ron," sighed Hermione. He made the most inappropriate jokes at the most inappropriate time. Like right now, for instance.

"He'd cursed me first before he'd even think about it," Harry mused. "Maybe he'd put me through a Cruciatus Curse first, then the Killing Curse."

"Or turn you into a slug," added Ron cheerfully. "There's always the possibility."

"Better a slug than hit with the Killing Curse." Hermione gave Ron a look. "Honestly, Ronald, now is not a time to be joking about things like that."

"I wasn't joking," Ron protested. "I was cheering Harry up."

"Which I'm sure he's grateful about it." Hermione sniffed at him. "Now, come. I have a lot to do once we get back to headquarters." Grabbing his hand, she pulled out her hand and Apparated them back to the Ministry of Magic building.

"There is much to be done, Lucius," said the tall, robed figure as he glided across the floor towards the windows. The view overlooking the grounds of Malfoy Manor was breathtaking, miles and miles of green. The Dark Lord, however, had no patience for admiring such view. He turned, standing with his back against the windows, hands clasped behind him as he faced the man in the same room as him.

The man before him had been his most faithful servant so far. But loyalty can be bought or coerced. While he trust the man before him, he still gave him the benefit of a doubt. After all, in these times, one will never know where his loyalty lies, as proven by the man's son. The boy had broke off all ties to the man, renounce his loyalty to the Dark Lord.

It had been such a disappointment, he had told Lucius Malfoy, that a fine young man like his son should chose the Order over him. Lucius had spent the week in the dungeons, punished by him for the disobedience of his son and for failing to hold a tighter rein around the boy. Now, Voldemort had forgiven Lucius, taken him back into his fold once more. And Lucius had never been more grateful to be back in service of his master.

"Harry Potter has been a thorn at my side for as long as I know." Voldemort began walking towards Lucius slowly, footsteps measure and calm. "He has always managed to stop me, time and time again. Perhaps that is why your son joins with them, eh, Lucius? They are an undefeatable team. But...I cannot hold it over you, after all, you were swayed by the woman as well. She brought him up well, keeping secrets and lies from you all these years."

"She will be punished for her disloyalty, my Lord, I will see to it." Lucius bowed.

"There is no need." Voldemort now stood an arm's length away from him, red, lidless eyes boring into his very soul. Red like fire, like the devil. "She will learn her lesson soon enough when her son lies cold at her feet." A smile on the thin lips. "But I am not going to waste your time in reminiscing about your poor managing skills of your family."

"Yes, my Lord." Lucius was not a cold man by all means. He still loved his wife and son but the Dark Lord's approval means more than the love for his family. He had sworn allegiance to his master and he will served his live to his master.

"Have you ever heard of the Charmed Ones, Lucius? A trio of powerful witches, blessed by the Higher powers above and foretold by an old prophecy."

Lucius's brow furrowed, letting Voldemort know he had no clue as to who they are. Understandable, really. The Dark Lord doubt if any wizard or witch in the community here knew. He smiled at him but the smile never touched his thin, skeletal face.

"My rise to power has been plague by Harry Potter for years, Lucius, and now I have received news of these mere mortals with enough power to challenge my rising."

"They are muggles then, my Lord," Lucius stated, watching as his Lord waved a hand in the air.

A projection, very much like a hologram appeared, showing an image to three women. Even though it was only an image, Lucius could feel the confidence, the power radiating from them. No, they were no mere muggles, he thought.

"They are not easy to be taken down. Many have tried to kill them but failed." Voldemort waved his bony hand again, and the image changed to two young men. One with brown hair in want of a good cut and the other with shoulder length blond hair. As with the women, these two men also exude the same power.

"The twice blessed, as it has been foretold in prophecies and scrolls. He will bring magic to great heights like never before."

Lucius wondered if there was point to all this or has the Dark Lord lost his mind. Voldemort seemed to read his thoughts for he smiled indulgently at the fair haired man before him. "I tell you these because you will be dealing with them sooner than you know, Lucius. I want you to be prepared."

"Then you wish for me to kill them?"

"No, Lucius. You are always such a naive fool. A loyal fool, nevertheless, still naive." Voldemort waved his hand, causing the projection to dissipate like mists. "I want you to bring me the twice blessed. His power is enough to sustain me, perhaps to bring me back to my former glory."

Lucius bowed in acknowledgment of the task. "Very well, my Lord." He turned to leave when the Dark Lord's voice called him back.

It was silky, filled with a coldness that made him shudder. "Lucius, don't fail me again. One disappointment is enough."

"Yes, my Lord."

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

- Chapter Two - 

Blue and white lights swirled into the foyer of the Victorian house, forming into a handsome young man. His brown hair was in need of a cut or trimming, the green eyes held worry inside as he started towards the stairs. Something shimmered in behind him with a deep, rumbling growl. He turned around to face it, eyes growing wide at the sight of what was before him.

The demon was all fangs, claws and teeth, standing slightly hunched on its legs. Even so, it was well over seven feet in height. Yellow feral eyes sighted the young Whitelighter before it. It let out an angry snarl, leaping at the Whitelighter, intending to rip him apart, reveling in tasting the flesh and blood.

Christopher Halliwell was not only born as a Whitelighter but also a Charmed One's son as well. He had not been brought up by his family to turn tail and flee in demon attacks. Even though his heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, he stood his ground, bringing up one hand, throwing the demon back with his telekinesis. It crashed into the front door, shattering the stained glass.

"Mom is so going to kill you, if I haven't," muttered Chris, surveying the damage. His mother was not going to be happy.

The demon shook its head, getting up. It looked angry enough to kill, which was its intention. It formed a fireball, throwing it at the witch. Chris quickly orbed out of harm's way, into the sitting room, ducking behind the couch.

"Wyatt!" he called out, knowing his older brother could hear him loud and clear. He needed more than the Power of One for this job. "A little help here!" Chris peeked out from behind the couch, ducking down again as the fireball flew over his head, breaking the windows. He had taken on more than he can chew. He frantically scanned the area for a weapon to use while keeping low.

Using telekinetic orbing – a power as a result of him being half Whitelighte and half witch – he called for the poker, motioned it towards the demon, stabbing it in the shoulder. It bellowed in pain and anger, staggering back slightly. Chris jumped up from his hiding place, quickly gestured at the demon. The power he got from his mother -- molecular combustion -- clipped the demon in the chest. It was not enough to vanquish it. Already in pain, it was now in a frenzied rage as it tore the poker from its shoulder, throwing it at the witch like a javelin.

Chris deflected it at the direction of the grandfather clock. He cringed at the sound and imagined the look on his mother's face when she saw. The demon leaping over the furniture to get at him snapped him back to reality as he orbed away into the conservatory. There was a loud crash coming from the sitting room, a sign the demon had ran into something or broke something then silence.

Silence in the manor was never a good thing. Chris stepped back, head turning left and right, trying to sense where the demon was now. He exhaled loudly, taking a step forward, his back to the stained windows. A shadow rose from the ground, looming over him. He stopped, staring at the large colored shadow that swallowed his own. The stained glass windows played different colors of light on the floor from the morning sun. He started to orb out when the glass shattered, raining colored shards around him like jewels, a heavy form colliding with his slight frame, forcing him into solid form, and bringing them both to the ground. Claws raked down his leg, bringing blood, eliciting a cry from him.

The demon roared, claws slashing down, trying to get at the witch under it. Chris could feel the foul stench from its breath. Panic coursed through him at being pinned down. He had an unpleasant experience being pinned by a demon when he had been four. He pushed both hands up against the demon, throwing it off him telekinetically. It smashed into the furniture, laying in a dazed heap. Chris managed to get up, despite the throbbing ache in his left leg. He reached out, grabbed the demon by its neck with both hands with telekinesis, lifted it a few inches above the floor and hurled it across the room where it crashed into more furniture.

"Wyatt! Get your bloody self here now!" Chris yelled, as the demon stirred, getting up unsteadily. "Wyatt!"

A fireball flew towards him. Chris threw up his hands, freezing it in midair then sending it back at the demon, catching it on the wounded shoulder. It let out a deafening roar, losing all sense, charged at the witch, determined to rip him to shreds. The eyes glowed a mad rage in them as it speeded towards him. Chris motioned with his hand, sweeping the demon's feet out from under it. It skidded across the floor uncontrollably towards him. He levitated out of the way and back down again to see the demon knocking over the table, sending the vase of flowers to the floor.

Familiar blue and white lights appeared into the room, fading away to reveal Wyatt Halliwell. The older young man's blond locks were slightly mussed, there was even a smear of lipstick mark on his neck. The blue eyes were filled with annoyance at being interrupted at his date. "What is it?" he demanded. "And can't it wait until I get home?"

"If it could wait, the manor would be in shambles," Chris snipped, gesturing at a direction.

"Witches!" came a deep, guttural sound. The demon rose up to its height, looking incredibly furious, saliva dripping from its jaw. "Wretched witches! I'll tear you from limb to limb for the troubles you caused me."

"What the hell is that?" Wyatt stared in disbelief at it.

"Who cares!" snapped Chris. "Just vanquish it already!"

The demon took a flying leap straight at the two of them. Chris immediately threw up his hands. As if someone had taken a remote and pressed the slow motion button, the demon's movements through the air seemed to have been slowed. Wyatt could see the fur rippling, the saliva trailing from the open jaw, the muscles coiling and uncoiling. It would have a been a breathtaking picture if it weren't going to kill them.

Wyatt launched a high voltage energy ball at the demon's direction. It's eyes grew wide when it saw the crackling blue ball headed towards it, and tried to move away. Panic came to its face when it realized its movements had somehow been slowed and it was not going to be able to avoid the inevitable.

The energy ball impacted, and suddenly the demon was thrown back, its head snapping to one side in normal speed again. Like someone had released the slow motion button. It fell to its side on the floor, twitching, fatally wounded. The energy ball had struck it on its chest, right where the heart was. Wyatt stepped up to its, formed another energy ball and dropped it on the demon, putting it out of its misery. It vanquished in flames, leaving a burnt mark on the hardwood floor.

"Mom is going to have a cow," he remarked, scuffing the spot with his shoe.

Chris grunted in reply, limping over to the only chair left standing, miraculously. He sat down heavily on it. "Like I don't know about it."

Wyatt wiped the lipstick mark on his neck away, smoothing his hair in place. "Did you not read about that particular demon before you took on it?" he asked, feeling annoyed now the adrenaline had worn off.

"I didn't think it was that hard to kill." Chris shrugged. He gingerly pulled up his pant leg to reveal the wound by the clawing. It was deep and bleeding again. "Ouch."

"You're hurt," said Wyatt, coming over to stand next to him.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." The older Halliwell shook his head at his brother's tone. Trust Chris to inherit their mother's short temper and sarcasm.

"You know what, why don't I just go and leave you to clean this all up yourself?" Wyatt huffed.

"Let the object of objection be but dream;  
as I caused the seen to become unseen."

Golden lights twinkled into the rooms, swirling around and faded away, leaving the rooms all in their original no fuss state of cleanliness. Wyatt rolled his eyes, wishing his Aunt Paige had never taught him that spell. He knelt by his brother, holding out a hand, letting the warm light heal the wound.

* * *

Agatha Cornwell made her living by telling fortunes. It doesn't bring much money in but it was a life she enjoyed. Tarot cards, palm reading, tea leaves, and the infamous crystal ball. Often, there would be a gaggle of tourists who came to San Francisco and would drop by her old Victorian home for some reading done. Most would believe her but there are times they don't believe her, especially if she told them news of ill tidings. No one likes bad news.

Today after the last flock of tourists had left with some news of their future, Aggie had shuffled back to her fortune telling room as she called it. There were drapes of vivid colors hung from the ceilings, candles lit up the room, giving it a somewhat gloomy look. A crystal ball sat on the shelf behind the round table. Her tea leaves lay unused today in their boxes. She had done palm reading instead. The tarot cards lay on the table which was decorated with a single lamp. She often dressed the part, in scarves and floral skirts with jangling gold bangles and rings.

She heard a loud sound coming from across the street. It was the red Victorian manor where the odd family lives. She knew them by names, having heard it often enough. The eldest sister was married with two boys. The other sister still stayed at the manor while the youngest had left the roost months ago. The husband, a handsome strapping man with flaxen hair, comes and goes as he pleases. Aggie sniffed in disdain. The family was strange, often scurrying about until late at night, sometimes with a lot of stranger noises coming from the house. The other neighbors didn't mind them, having shrug them off as eccentric. Old Aggie was suspicious of their activities.

She shuffled her tarot cards, deciding to read the family's fortunes on a whim. Good karma always seem to radiate from them. She lay the cards face down on the table, letting the feel guide her, picking one up. She turned it over and gasped, staring at it.

It was the picture of the Grim Reaper. DEATH was written in blood red below the illustration.

The sound of a car coming to a stop across the street caught her attention. She got up, hurrying to the window, pushing aside the drapes to see the forest green Jeep parked in the driveway and a woman climbing out. It was the eldest sister, Piper. She was unpacking the groceries from the back of the Jeep.

Still clutching the card, Aggie quickly hurried out of her house, making her way across the street towards Piper with determination.

"Piper Halliwell! Ms Halliwell!" she called out as she approached.

Piper swung around, one arm balancing the groceries, the other her bag and keys. Of the three sisters, this one exudes a confident beauty that the two cannot compare. There were no streaks of grey in her hair yet, the mane pulled into a ponytail. Her brown eyes were still bright and sharp for her age, and her tongue sharper. This was a woman to be reckon with, Aggie realized, one does not mess with her.

"Yes? And you are?"

"Aggie. I live across your house." Aggie could see the curiosity in the woman's eyes as well as slight impatience. A regular spitfire, this one was. "I did a reading on your family just now, Ms Halliwell. It does not look that bright for you."

"As fascinating as it sounds, I really need to get inside so..." Piper began, shifting the groceries.

"Listen to me, Ms Halliwell! Your family is in grave danger." Aggie saw her eye roll at that, pushed down her own impatience. The woman was stubborn. "I did a reading today and it showed death in your family. This is proof that someone in your family will die." She thrust the tarot card into Piper's face.

The younger woman squinted in surprise then backed away a step, annoyance clear on her face now. "Listen, Aggie, is it? My family is very... unusual, all right? We've faced a lot worse than this."

"You should heed the warning, Piper Halliwell. Death will come for your family." Aggie wanted to the woman to take her warning seriously but she could the doubt in those brown eyes. "I am not crazy! My reading is never wrong! Something will happen!"

Piper was now uneasy that a raving woman had somehow cornered her and began babbling about some ill misfortune on her family. "I think that I can take care of my family, Aggie," she said to her politely. "Thanks for your warning."

"You're not taking it seriously, Ms Halliwell," Aggie said, staring hard at the woman. "You think I'm a raving lunatic. Let me tell you, this is serious. Death will come for anyone of you. Maybe even your sons."

Piper stiffened at the mention of her sons. She turned towards Aggie with a furious expression, and the old fortune teller knew she had hit a sore spot. "You stay away from my boys, you hear me?" she hissed. "Nothing will happen to my boys, if it did, I will personally look for you."

Aggie fell silent, watching as Piper turned away, marching right up to the house, shoulders tensed. She look back down at the card then crossed back to her own side of the street, going back into her house. She had a feeling the Halliwells will get what was coming to them.

Piper was furious. The old woman! Who did she think she was? She sniffed, dumping the bag on the table, trying to calm down. Crazy old woman, sprouting nonsense. She placed her palms flat on the table, pushing back the memories of eighteen years back. Of a special someone who came back into the past, sacrificing everything to save his brother. All for the greater good. There was not a day that past by she didn't worry about his future.

"Mom?"

She wiped her eyes hastily, turning around to see her youngest son looking at her worriedly. "You're upset about something," he stated simply.

"Oh, just something someone said to me," she said airily, brushing it off. "It's nothing."

Chris still looked doubtful but he seemed to accept her answer.

"Help me with the groceries?" she asked.

"Groceries!" Chris gestured, orbing the remaining bags into the house, onto the table. Using telekinesis, he shut the door to the Jeep and the front door.

"You'd better hope no one saw, Christopher," she said, using his full name to show she was annoyed with him, though her eyes were twinkling.

"I don't think they did." Chris followed her into the kitchen. "If they did, they'll think it's just a trick of light."

"Where's Wyatt?" Piper began putting away the groceries.

"Right here." Wyatt had orbed in with flourish, a huge grin on his face. "What did you get, Mom?" He began digging through the bags, looking for something. It was habit of his since childhood, to go through every bag for some treats. Piper and Leo couldn't seem to break him out of it, and let him.

"Peanut butter, Pop Tarts, cereal, milk, tomatoes, celery..." Wyatt rummaged in the bags.

"Help me put them away if you're going to dig through everything." Piper smacked him on the arm lightly.

Wyatt let out a huge exaggerated sigh, gestured and everything flew into their respective places, cabinet doors opening and closing as cans, bottles, jars flew to their places. In a matter of minutes, it was all done. Piper didn't know whether to be mad or amused. She had often imposed on them the no magic rule in doing household chores, wanting them to live a magic free life as possible.

"Wyatt Matthew!" she scolded but her mouth was twitching.

Wyatt shrugged. "Aunt Paige says to practice your craft."

"Well, let it be known that Aunt Paige isn't here now and she's overzealous in using magic. Look at what happened to her and Aunt Phoebe?" Piper eyed them. She had told them enough stories of their aunts' carelessness in using magic for personal gain, and having it backfire on them enough times.

"Aunt Phoebe had her powers stripped away and Aunt Paige learnt the lessons the hard way," Chris said. "We know, Mom, no personal gain magic."

"It always backfires in your face, remember that." Piper ruffled his hair affectionately. "Our family has a history of magic always rebounding back to us. I don't need you both to suffer for it."

"Right, like Richard." Wyatt had a smirk on his face, recalling Aunt Paige's ex-beau. They had an on and off relationship which was right now, more on than off. "Messing around with magic and finally getting his powers bound."

"She should dump him," Chris said dispassionately. He never got a good vibe from the man, often getting negative readings from him.

"Chris!" Piper scowled at her son.

"It's true," he insisted. "He doesn't like her doing magic. I can read him not liking it even though he tells Aunt Paige he doesn't mind."

"Who should dump who?" It Phoebe, coming into the kitchen. "Hey, my two favorite guys in the world. A hug for you and you." She squeezed them both, adding to Wyatt's embarrassment by pinching his cheek, forgetting he wasn't the adorable baby anymore. Chris sidestepped her advances, ducking behind his mother for protection, smirking at his older brother's discomfort.

"Aunt Paige should dump Richard," Wyatt supplied, rubbing his cheek ruefully.

Phoebe opened her mouth as if to add her two cents in but closed them again when she saw Piper shaking her head and frowning. "Wyatt, Aunt Paige is old enough to decide who she wants to be with. If she wants to stay with Richard, goody for her."

"I'd rather stay with someone who allows me to practice magic," Chris piped up, orbing an apple into his hand.

"Sweetie, you're only seventeen. At that age, you think people should do what you want." Phoebe reached over the counter, ruffling his hair.

"I'll be eighteen in a few weeks." Chris jutted out his lower lip. "And I'm not a kid. I just vanquished an upper level hairy demon, with Wyatt's help." His eyes grew wide when he realized his mistake at the frantic shaking of Wyatt's head and Aunt Phoebe's face. Oops.

"You vanquished an upper level demon in the house?" Piper's expression darkened at the slipup. "Christopher Perry! You could have been hurt or worse. And you!" She rounded on Wyatt who held up his hands hurriedly, backing away a step. "Why didn't you stop him?"

Wyatt's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish gulping for air as he frantically tried to answer his infuriated mother while avoiding being combusted or worse. Piper scowled at them, facing the ringleader of the Stooges, namely, one Phoebe Halliwell.

"Phoebe, I know you had something to do with it." Piper's tone was deceptively calm as her face grew serene.

Phoebe was caught like a rat. One look to her nephews offered no help. Wyatt looked ready to orb out at any moment rather than facing his mother's wrath. Chris was staring in fascination at the apple in his hand as if he'd never seen it in his entire life. Oh, yes, no help there from either one. She was saved from answering when someone orbed into the kitchen.

The lights faded into Leo in his street wear instead of the Elder's robes. The other Elders, after much heated debate, had decided to grant him the status of being an earthbound Elder unless he was jingled by them for an important meeting Up There. It had taken much deliberation for them to decide what to do with him, after the news of Gideon's death reached them. Leo had thanked his lucky stars they allowed him to remain as an Elder, and not send down to be recycled or worse.

"Piper." Leo greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. She responded by pushing him back, a frown marring her features. He stood back with a confused look at her, then glanced at the trio hovering near the door. From the guilt ridden faces, he guessed they must have done something to pissed her off.

"I take it now is not a good time."

"My sister nearly got my kids killed all because she decides to get them to vanquish some upper level demon without my knowing," Piper growled out.

"But they're fine, right? No broken bones or gouged out eyes." Leo saw the ire in her eyes, and hastily soothed her. "Now, Piper, they're fine." He turned to them, face stern but his eyes were twinkling at them, letting them know he wasn't as angry as their mother. "Boys, next time, leave the vanquish to the sisters, all right? You're both grounded," he added, as an afterthought.

"I can't be grounded!" Wyatt spluttered indignantly. "I'm twenty years old!"

"You should have thought of that before, little man," Leo said.

Chris chuckled but fell silent when their mother rounded on him, quickly lowering his eyes, the dark lashes hiding his mirth. Piper shook her head at her youngest in a resigned manner. What she would give to have him as the helpless little baby again. Wait, scratch that. As a baby, he wasn't totally helpless at all but more of a handful, prone to magical tantrums. His brown hair, complexion and temperament were all taken from her. Only his height was from Leo. Whereas Wyatt seemed to inherit everything from Leo, from the color of his hair to his eyes to his complexion and height; even the passive Whitelighter trait of 'talk first then fight' as Piper liked to call it. Chris was more of the aggressor, jumping headlong into danger, seeming to love the adrenaline that comes with it. It was a wonder he hadn't give her any grey hair yet.

"Dad!" Wyatt whined. "Aunt Phoebe? You wouldn't want your favorite nephew to be grounded, right?" He turned huge, limpid eyes at her.

"You know, mister, that worked when you were an adorable five year old," Phoebe said. "And it's still working... Piper, a little help."

Piper bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. She put on a stern expression on her face. "Don't torture your aunt so, Wyatt. Scat, both of you, out of my kitchen. Before I changed my mind and ground you both till you're seventy."

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

- Chapter Three - 

"The Charmed Ones?"

Harry, Hermione and Ron were gathered at Number 12, Grimmauld Place at the old kitchen where they used to plan their strategies when they were still at Hogwarts. Strange that this was the place where they gathered once again to do a secret task for the Order once more. This time, they had been told, it was on the dangerous side.

Ron had scoffed that since when their job had been anything but dangerous, and claimed he laughed at the face of danger. Hermione had given him a prim look which shut him up immediately. Now the trio sat at the battered table where their meals had been served countless times during their stay here and meetings had been planned, strategies made and agreements accepted, hands on the table top, slightly relaxed, drinking in the familiar sight and smell of the place. For Harry, it had been ages since he last step foot in here.

Albus Dumbledore, former headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat across from them, seemingly engrossed in the parchments and photos before him, writing something on a parchment. Dumbledore devoted half his time with the Order, while the other half was anyone's guess. Malfoy had once suggested the headmaster spend his free time prancing about in his underwear yowling to the Rolling Stones in his bedroom which, stuck in Harry's head for weeks until recently.

"They're witches," Hermione supplied primly. "Honestly, don't either one of you ever read up on news?" She noticed their blank stares at her. "Three witches who were foretold by their ancestor Melinda Warren to be the most powerful witches of in their time, the force to stand between good and evil, to keep the balance in place. They date back from the Warren line to the current Halliwell line, though the name Halliwell strikes a chord with the demons they hunt. They use wandless magic, spells and potions. Each witch has her own unique power that is entire her own."

"Wandless magic?" Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Bloody hell!"

"Indeed, Mr Weasley." Dumbledore finally looked up, a twinkle in his eye, oblivious to Ron's swearing just now. "As Ms Granger had so kindly explained, they are a power to be reckon with. Piper Halliwell is the eldest of the three, almost the matriarch of the family, followed by Phoebe Halliwell and finally, the youngest, Paige Matthews, their half sister. I presume you will all find the information here very useful in your research and knowledge."

"Molecular combustion, telekinetic orbing – what is that? Empathy, premonitions, levitation, glamouring... Merlin, the list of powers goes on!" Ron exclaimed, reading the rest silently, with Harry over his shoulder.

"They're in danger from Voldemort, aren't they, Professor?" Harry asked suddenly. "That's why you gathered us here, to give us a lesson about them, so that we can help them."

"Very perceptive, Harry." Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, they are in danger from the Dark Lord. Word has it, he has set his eye on them. The Dark Lord wants no one to stand in his way of power. Although the witches are unaware of his existence, he considers them enough threat. That is why you lot must go to America – San Francisco, to be precise to help them."

"Excuse me, Professor, but I thought you wanted us to protect them from the Dark Lord," said Hermione, puzzled.

"Heavens no!" Dumbledore chuckled. "No, Ms Granger. They are very capable of taking care of themselves, as proven in the parchments I handed to you. No, they don't need protection at all. All I wanr is for the three of you to provide assistance to them." He smiled down at them kindly. "I trust you can do your best in persuading them to accept your help. A portkey has been prepared for your trip to America. You will arrive at Salem, from there, Apparate to San Francisco. You will be able to find their place easily, a rather lovely red Victorian manor at Prescott Street."

"What can we possibly offer to help them with?" Ron questioned.

"That will be for you to decide. Good luck to all of you." Dumbledore nodded to them and Disappate with a soft pop.

"Barmy, that's what he is," said Ron, pushing the rest of the parchments to Hermione.

"Ron," she warned, leafing through the parchments, and finding a photo of the Halliwell witches. It was a muggle photo, taken by an ordinary camera. Three beautiful women standing together with bright smiles at the camera. Even in the photos, Hermione could feel their aura of power, confidence and strength. She wondered if she would grow old to be as beautiful as them. She handed the photo to Ron who whistled.

"They call themselves witches and dress like that?" Ron was ogling at the photo in a leery manner. "Where are the robes? Indecent, they are."

"I see that you're not protesting much either." Hermione sniffed.

"I supposed it means we're off the McBride case for now," Harry remarked to no one particular.

"Dumbledore had Tonks reassign the case over to Neville and Parvati," Hermione said. "We'll be working on this one instead." She read through the history of the sisters, finding it fascinating. "Listen to this. The sisters' powers were bound after their mother's death, and they lived a normal life with their grandmother without any knowledge of their witch heritage. Penny Halliwell – the grandmother, died of a heart attack and thus, the sisters' powers were unbound. The Charmed Ones were born. The oldest sister, Prudence, died in a demon attack a few years after that, breaking the Power of Three. It wasn't until the day of the funeral that they remaining sisters stumbled onto their half sister who was kept hidden from them. The Power of Three was reborn that day."

Ron pretended to snore, to show his boredom. She swatted at him playfully. Harry seemed interested. "They lead normal lives unaware they were magical, just like me," he mused. "Until I received a letter from Hogwarts."

"They've vanquished more than a hundred demons," Hermione stated, not looking up from her reading. "All using spells and vanquishing potions and the Power of Three."

"It only works when the three sisters are together," Ron pointed out.

"It does, doesn't it?" Hermione was now musing over the thought.

"Dumbledore said we can leave now if we want to." Harry was getting up. "Personally, I'd like a good night's sleep before we go haring after the witches."

"All right then." Hermione gathered up the parchments, rolling them, tying them up with a red ribbon. She tucked them in her robes pocket. "We'll meet here tomorrow morning."

* * *

The weather in San Francisco was warm and humid all at the same time. It was a weather that Lucius did not particularly liked or enjoyed having. Unlike England where it was often cool, with rain every so often and cool summer nights. No, he did not like the temperature here at all. In his heavy velvet black robes, he was sweating buckets, wiping an expensive, embroidered handkerchief to his face. The band of Death Eaters behind him were faring no better than him. They looked hot, bothered and sweaty, all having conjuring up paper fans which were madly fanning themselves around them. It provided some relief, at least. Lucius did no such thing. Frankly, he thought it was rather pathetic and weak to do so.

They – the half dozen Death Eaters – had portkeyed from London to San Francisco. Now, they were in the middle of a park overlooking the famous Golden Gate Bridge. The lights on the frames cast an orange tint to the bridge, making it glow. From the timepiece Lucius always carried (it was charmed to tell time from whichever continent you are), he could see it was just fifteen after twelve. Most of the denizens would be sleeping about now. He gave orders for them to Disapparate to Prescott Street. They Apparated in front of the house. Even in the dim light of the street lamp a house away and the moon, Lucius could see it was an old Victorian house, practically an antique. He appreciate the fine craftsmanship in building the manor, it was obvious the person had great eye for details, like the stained glass windows, the rich brown oak door with its stained glass. The house was beautiful, and Lucius quite like things that were made with great care and passion.

They entered the house silently, with Lucius muttering "_Alohomora_!" under his breath, the oak door swinging open without so much as a squeak. Wormtail who was last shut the door loudly, causing Lucius to whirl around and hissed at the fat man in contempt and displeasure. Peter had never been good at skulking around hallways after dark, not unless he was a rat. In human form, he seemed to have the common sense of a goldfish. They stood in the foyer. The temperature in the house was cooler, probably from the wood. The decor inside reflected the nature of the house, with rich wood furnishings around, floral patterned sofa sets, an oak dinning table, hardwood floor, a cozy fireplace which was empty at the moment. There were smattering of framed family photos here and there on the mantel, in the armoire, in the glass cabinets. Photos of smiling, happy people. Only the light in the foyer was on, casting a pale light across the room. Light from the moon outside made everything seem greyish in color, casting dark shadows here and there.

There was a crystal by the staircase leading upstairs, presumably to the bedrooms. The crystal gleamed in the light, putting caution in him. Before he could caution the rest of the team, Wormtail had already placed a foot on the bottom step. The crystal flared, a white hot light that seemed to blind them for a moment, then a loud sound like klaxon echo in the house, shrill in pitch and intensity. He cursed Wormtail for not realizing what it was. Now, he knew. A demonic alarm system. Clever.

"Sometimes, Peter, I wonder if God gave you the sense of a goat," he stated coldly to the cowering idiot. "Prepare yourselves," he informed the band behind.

No sooner had he said it, bright lights of blue and white swirled into the room, almost blinding them. When the lights faded, he could see the five figures spread out around them, looks of fury on their faces, as if they couldn't quite believe anyone had been so bold as to attack them at this hour. Two of them were women, the three were men, two of them young. The brown haired young man didn't wait for orders, he simply thrust out his hand, made a sweeping motion at them, throwing them all off their feet into a pile.

That was when pandemonium broke lose.

Crabbe and Goyle, despite their lumbering stupidity, had enough sense to quickly throw stunning spells at them, managing to stun one of the men but not before the younger blond threw Nott straight onto the dinning table, shattering the crystal vase.

"Leo!" cried one of the women. Her husband then, Lucius realized. Then, those two will be her sons.

"Dad!" The blond young man gestured at the unconscious man, and he disappeared in a swirl of lights, floating upwards through the ceiling.

Wormtail was scrambling away from the brown haired young man, terror in his beady eyes as he squeaked in fear, not wanting to be thrown around. With a pop, he was transformed into a rat with a bare tail, scampering away hurriedly. The young man was taken aback slightly before quickly gestured at the rat, seemingly to stop him in mid motion.

"Crucio!" Lucius shouted, wand pointed at the woman with the long brown hair. She fell to the floor, face contorted in pain as her mouth opened in silent scream. He smiled coldly, knowing the white hot fire that was coursing through her veins, as if burning every vein, every organ, every bone in her body. The Longbottoms had went mad with this curse.

"Hey!" Lucius turned in time to see a fist in his face. He staggered, nearly dropping his wand as his free hand flew up to his nose. It was the twice blessed boy. He looked furious, ready to kill.

Another thud told them, the other woman was stunned by one of his Death Eaters. "Aunt Phoebe!" the other young man cried out, hurrying to her side, throwing Flint to one side. He gestured, and Lucius was treated to the sight of a frozen Flint. Bright lights before made him blinked, and he saw the twice blessed boy had a blue bubble of a shield or some sort around him and the woman. He hurled the Cruciatus Curse at the boy, only to have it bounced off the shield and onto the unfortunate Nott on the table. The Death Eater bolted upright from his unconscious state with a howl of pain, rolling off the table. Lucius's lips twisted into an angry sneer. The Dark Lord never informed him of the boy having a shield.

Not wanting to fall back empty handed, Lucius whirled around, spotting the other boy who had just smashed the grandfather clock on Goyle, rendering him useless. A malicious smile came to his face, one that spoke volumes of what he will do.

"_Crucio_!" He aimed the wand at the boy, watching in satisfaction as the boy fell to the floor with a cry. He turned around to meet the twice blessed boy and his mother (who else could it be?), mouth in a smirk. He could see his Death Eaters gathered around the shield, their wands pointed at them, ready to fire off a curse or hex the moment it was lowered.

"Chris! Orb out!" the woman inside shouted desperately. "Orb out!"

The boy seemed to take his mother's word for strength, for he suddenly made a fist with his hand, and Lestrange – the only one unharmed all through the ordeal so far – doubled over, choking, gasping, her eyes wide, hands flying to her throat. The boy's eyes were filled with fire, earning a grudging respect from Lucius at his strong will to fight back. He was choking Lestrange, and was not having any qualms about strangling her to death at all.

Lucius drew his foot back and kicked at the boy hard at the head, breaking his concentration and rendering him unconscious. Once the boy was out cold, it seemed as if Wormtail and Flint came back to life. Flint casting a hex at nothing in particular and Wormtail banging into the wall, changing back into human form, rubbing his forehead painfully. Lucius reached for the boy, despite the threats coming from the mother and sibling. They were nothing but empty threats, coming from behind protection. He grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt, just as loud pops alerted him to a new presence in the room. Three new presences, and they were not who he wanted to see at the moment.

Harry had Apparated to the Victorian manor followed by Hermione and Ron, after portkeying from Salem. The journey had been uneventful, save for the warm summer weather which seemed to make the clothes stick on his back like glue. The sight that greeted them was one of shocked disbelief.

"Death Eaters!" Ron growled, recognizing the black robes anywhere. All seem to be aiming their wands at some bright blue bubble at the center of the room. Across them was Lucius Malfoy, one hand gripping the back of the shirt of an unconscious boy, the face filled with malice. The bubble, Ron realized, held a woman and a young man inside. It was protecting them from the other Death Eaters. There was a fierce scowl on the young man's face, as his fists were clenched at his sides. The woman looked like a Fury herself, her expression alternating between anger and worry, her hands hung loosely at her sides.

There was a motionless body of another woman near Nott's feet, her arm flung away from her body, her head lolled to one side. Harry fervently hoped that she had not been hit with a Killing Curse, and just stunned by a spell. The Death Eaters heard the sound of them Apparating in, turned their heads to stare at them in stunned disbelief, as if not quite sure they were really there.

Lucius Malfoy's face had gone comically white, eyes growing round like tea saucers, jaw hanging open in an unattractive way.

"You know, he looks right ugly at the moment," Ron remarked casually.

"Potter!" Lucius hissed, recovering quickly from his shocked disbelief. "I see you've come along with your little ragtag team. Dumbledore must take great joy in sending his three best Order members to face against six Death Eaters. How very brave and foolish."

At that the remaining Death Eaters had turned their attention to them, wands aimed at them. Harry's eyes grew wide a bit then narrowed. They've left themselves open to their enemy behind. He could see the bubble dissipating silently.

"Not really, Malfoy." Harry felt his mouth curved up into a very Draco-like sneer. Years of hanging with the fair headed Slytherin had paid off. "You see, I'm not the one who's foolish at the moment."

The Death Eaters were suddenly send flying all over the room, their loud yells alerting Lucius of the danger behind him. Harry pointed his wand at the Death Eater, lips parted to say the stunning spell in the midst of confusion when Lucius smirked and Disapparated away. The remaining Death Eaters all quickly scrambled to their feet, scrabbling for their wands which were dropped when they were thrown and hurriedly Disapparated.

"No!" The woman let out a cry of rage, lunging towards the spot where Lucius had been moments before. "Chris!"

The young man flicked his wrist at one of the Death Eaters, the blue bubble springing up in place, trapping the unfortunate man. He bounce off the walls of the bubble, unable to Disapparate anywhere at all. Terror was on his face when he realized he was left behind and well and truly trapped.

"Awesome!" Ron exclaimed, seeing the bubble.

"Who are you? Are you with them? If you are, so help me..." The woman had spun around, facing them, the fierce anger on her face never abating.

"We're not!" Hermione spoke out, looking highly offended. "As if we would associate ourselves with Death Eaters."

"Death what?" The young man blinked at her. "Explain."

"Maybe we should check on her first," Harry suggested, angling his head towards the other woman.

"Oh! Phoebe!" The woman hurried to the figure's side, touching her on the shoulder and giving her a shake. "Pheebs, wake up! Phoebe!"

"You can't wake her up like that," said Hermione. She pointed the tip of her wand at the motionless form and said the spell. "_Ennervate_."

Phoebe came to rather groggily, putting one hand on her pounding head. "Ow, my head. What happened? Who are you?" She noticed them.

"Harry Potter," Harry told her, offering a hand to help her up. "We're here to help you."

Leo had been orbed down by Wyatt and woken with the same spell the girl, Hermione – a rather odd name – had used on Phoebe earlier. During that time, the young man who had introduced himself as Harry Potter had hurriedly explained everything to them in cliff notes version. Piper could deduce one thing. Another power mad warlock or demon was out to get them again. Life could get any more exciting than this. Lead by Wyatt, they all trooped into the sunroom where the straggler had been trapped in the bubble.

He was a shifty eyed man, looking about here and there, seeming almost jittery. The hand holding the wand was shaking, even though he cast them all looks of disdain and hate. "You will all face the wrath of the Dark Lord," he said.

"Excuse me?" Piper raised an eyebrow. She had calmed down enough not to accidentally blowing anything up. She was still furious as hell and worried. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

The man shut up, glaring at her insolently. Harry peered at him then smiled. "Hello, Avery. Fancy you being left behind."

"Potter!" Avery hissed. "You'll soon die by my Lord's hands and it will be a painful death."

"I've lost count of how many times you lot always say that whenever we meet." The redhead, Ron, was saying cheekily to the man.

"Impudent child." Avery glowered. "You know nothing of the shadows that move across all wizarding England, of the Lord's plans. It is beginning, the death of those families. McBride was begging for his life, did you know? The stupid, useless fool."

Ron's face grew red with anger but he restrained himself. Years ago, he would had lunged forward and try to beat the stuffing out of anyone who taunted him or mocked him. "You won't be so self satisfied once we finish with you."

The music of orbs informed them Leo had returned from his trip Up There. Paige was with him, having been picked up on the way over. The half witch looked tired and pale, her hair in a mess and was still in her sleepwear. Her feet were bare, and she wriggled her toes uncomfortably, realizing there were more than family in the sunroom at this unholy hour.

"Piper, I'm so sorry!" she blurted out, immediately heading over to her eldest sister, guilt all over her face. "I should have come over right away."

"Paige, it's all right." Piper smiled at her kindly. "There was nothing you could do anyway. We were outnumbered by wizards with wands." Then her face turned grim. "And they took my baby."

"We'll get Chris back," said Phoebe firmly, placing a hand on Piper's arm.

"What did the Elders have to say? About those wizards who attacked us?" Phoebe asked Leo, turning her attention to him.

Leo met their inquiring looks with a grave face. It was enough to make Piper suspect the worst, the coil of dread at the pit of her belly seem to tighten. She was suddenly frighten for her youngest son.

"Dad," prompted Wyatt gently.

"They've suspected a sudden rise in power over at England, that someone is rising up to the next Source," said Leo somberly. "His name is Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Riddle. He was human once but..."

"Voldemort has been trying to rise to power for years now," Hermione cut in. "He and his followers, the Death Eaters, have been purging London of wizarding families they deem opposing them and those who are muggle born."

"Normal humans who show magic in them," Leo explained to the puzzled looks.

"All those muggles and those who oppose the Dark Lord will burn at his hand," cackled Avery from his bubble. "You may kill me now but many more will rise and join with the Dark Lord."

"Oh, be quiet!" Wyatt snapped, making a fist. The bubble constricted in size, shocking the wizard in the process. He let out a howl of protest and pain until Wyatt released his fingers. "Anymore words out of your mouth and it'll hurt worse."

Avery nodded mutely, although he was scowling at them.

"Harry has been the only thing standing in his way of full power," Ron explained. "Him and us, the Oder. A group of wizards who are gathered to fight against the Dark Lord."

"So, you're here all the way from London to help us," Phoebe said.

"In a way but we also need your assistance," Hermione said.

"They were sent to get our help," Leo told the sisters. "Dumbledore foresaw the attack on us but I'm thinking he didn't see Chris being taken as hostage. We need to follow them back to London."

"And him?" Piper jerked her thumb at Avery. "Can we vanquish him? Or just this?" She flicked her wrist, blowing up the potted plant on the shelf.

Avery paled at the sight of the shattered pottery. He gulped. "You don't want to kill me. I'm human, not a demon. It's against your laws."

"Funny, I don't remember being a law for that." Paige eyed him distastefully. "We'll just bring him along and hand him over to whoever's in charge."

"It's Dementor's Kiss for you, Avery," Harry said, voice toneless. He pitied the man who started to snivel in fear.

* * *

When Chris came to, he was laying on his back on something cold and hard. He was also in a rather large room. The ceiling seemed to rose up and up, disappearing into the dark shadows above where the light could not reach. Lattice windows let in the afternoon sun, burning blood red in the horizon, the heavy maroon drapes pushed aside. There was a fireplace at one end of the room but no fire burning, which explained why he was chilled to the bone in his thin t-shirt and pajama bottoms which he had wore to bed. The cold seeped through his skin, raising goosebumps and seemed to gnawed at his bones. He tried moving and found to his mild surprise he was tied to the floor by invisible cords. He let out a breath, turning his head to one side. There was no door in sight. He wondered if he had been shimmered or blinked into the room. There was a full length ornate mirror which reflected his face back to him, showing a pale, tired looking boy with dark shadows under his eyes, dried blood which coated the right temple and a bruise on the cheekbone.

There was a sound like door swinging open on his left, he craned his head to look and saw a short, fat man with beady eyes coming in, followed by another man; this one taller and much better looking than the first but by not much, and lastly by another man dressed in black robes which flowed around him as if he were royalty. The three came through the doorway which had appeared and then disappeared. They came to stand before him, towering above his form. Chris guessed it was a spell or a charm used to make the door visible to the user. He looked up and up at his captors, eyes going from left to right, from the short fat man to the robed figure who reminded him of Darth Vader without the mask.

"Looks like he's awake," said the short fat man, to no one in particular.

"Indeed, Wormtail," drawled the middle man, casting his companion a look of utter disdain, as if unable to believe there was such a stupid person who existed in this world. "As if none of us can see that."

"I believe I requested for the twice blessed, Lucius, and not some little urchin," said the Source copy.

The first man, Wormtail, chortled at his taller companion's look of discomfort. He looked positively gleeful that someone else instead of him had gotten into trouble with the Source copy. Wormtail reminded him of those pathetic lowlifes who had more pride than sense.

"He is the brother," Lucius said smoothly, regaining his composure. "I can assure you, Master, he is just as good as the other boy. He can stop time. He immobilized Peter."

"I wouldn't say that..." Wormtail began but was silenced by the Source copy.

"You know, most people would stop talking when they realize the other person is in front of them," Chris piped up from the floor. "I'm still here, in case you're wondering."

"You will speak when spoken to," Wormtail told him, irritable that his little plan to humiliate Lucius didn't work out quite as well.

"I should have squash you like the bug you are just now," Chris said pitilessly to him. "You're an ugly rat as well, a pitiful coward who cares for the adulation of others and the misery you caused to others."

Wormtail nearly turned purple with rage at his remarks. Lucius seemed amused by Chris's sharp wit despite the situation he was in at the moment. The Source copy reached up with one bony hand, drawing the hood of his robes back, revealing his face. Chris couldn't help it. He let out a surprised sound, gaping at the face.

If the Source was hideous, then this person takes the cake of being the most hideous. His skin was bone white, as if someone had drained him off every drop of blood from his vein, his eyes red and burning with fire, death and hate. He had no lips, only a line to show where his mouth was. His skin stretched over high, bony cheekbones. He was a sight, neither human looking nor demonic looking enough. As if someone had taken a bit of humanity and shoved it in him while making him. When he lifted his arm, the sleeve of his robe fell back, revealing a tattoo of a skull and snake on the forearm. The snake seemed to slithered through one eyehole to the other, hissing at him.

Chris managed to regain his shock at the sight. "What are you? The next Source?" he demanded, still staring at the person.

"I have news of such demon attempting to vanquish the sisters before but failed," said the Source alike. "I am no such person. My power is beyond your comprehension, boy. I am Lord Voldemort."

"So is my brother's," snapped Chris, tugging at his bonds in a vain attempt to get free. "You don't see me complaining now, do you? And I hope my mom and aunts vanquish your sorry ass."

"Such a spitfire," said Voldemort, sounding rather amused. "Perhaps he will do as well, Lucius. He certainly has enough spirit in him and a lot of magic and power."

Chris had heard two people in his life who often said such things, and they were always after one thing only. The power and magic which flows in him or his brother.

"But his sauciness leaves me rather irritable," he continued. He drew out a wand from the sleeve of his robe, pointed it at Chris. "_Crucio_."

The part Whitelighter had a split second to deflect the spell at him using the empath power he inherited from Phoebe. The curse hit Wormtail instead, and the man fell to the floor in agony, scrabbling about like a dying rat. Lucius looked startled but Voldemort had a pleased expression on his pale face, as if he had expected it.

"Very well done," he said, the wand still pointed at Chris. "But not good enough."

Dark light jetted from the tip of the wand at the helpless Chris.

TBC...

* * *

_I apologize if I got 12 Grimmauld Place wrong. While I am a fan of Harry Potter, I haven't read the books yet so my description comes from info from fansites. I do believe that should the Charmed Ones' world and Harry's collide, it would incredibly interesting indeed, as their magic are different from each other's. _**Thanks**_ for everyone who send feedback. Glad to know there are some of you who enjoy this story_. - _sugarbox_


	4. Chapter 4

_All right, people. I'm posting two chapters up since I won't have time to do so in the next few days. The Chinese New Year is creeping up in a couple of days and I'll be very, very busy. Plus, I'm going back to my grandparents' hometown and they have no computer or internet connection._

- Chapter Four -

When the lights faded from his eyes, Harry could see the other two groups had arrived before them seconds earlier. He had never experience something quite like orbing before. With Apparating, you need to concentrate or else you'll splinch yourself, leaving your solid form behind and your apparition arriving at your destination. Portkeying gave him a dizzying sensation of being tugged at one place at super sonic speed, at least that was what he often thought. Floo travel was messy and saying the wrong destination name meant you could arrive at some poor soul's fireplace, scaring the socks off them. Orbing – now that was altogether a different matter. It was much more precise and less sooty with no yanking feeling to make you hurl.

It was like flying but not really. Like flying through an astral plane where only souls and spirits and other entities go to. The lights were almost blindingly bright when he opened his eyes to peek. He could see nothing but he could feel a delicious sensation running through his entire body. There was a kaleidoscope of colours which danced behind his eyelids during the travel and the light melodic tune which soothed his nerves. It was an entirely new and exciting experience for him.

"Harry, you made it!" Hermione exclaimed, hurrying over to him. She looked radiant and flushed, her eyes shone with the excitement of orbing with Paige and Phoebe. "That was simply wicked! I'm going to be writing it all down. What a way to travel, instead of Apparate or Floo or portkey."

"It's a crummy way to travel, I tell you," groaned someone from their left. They looked to see Ron sitting in one of the hard backed chairs in the kitchen of No 12, Grimmauld Place. He looked slightly green.

"Oh, chin up, Ron," Harry said, patting him on the shoulder. Ron turned even greener if possible. "Oh, sorry."

"Where are we?" asked Piper, studying the kitchen with an appreciative eye. As a chef, she loved nothing more than a good, functional clean kitchen. This one made the one at the manor seem pale in comparison. It was undoubtly old, with wooden shelves that looked worn with wear and whitewashed wood. The stove was old fashioned using wood to burn. She touched one of the China plates along the shelf.

"No 12, Grimmauld Place," Hermione answered her. "This is where the Order used to stay and we always have meetings here in the kitchen with the stove burning and tea being made."

"Tea. I like tea." Piper nodded approvingly.

"Dumbledore will be along shortly," said Harry, striding towards the kitchen door. "In the meantime, why don't we get you all settle down. You'll probably be staying here for the next few days or so."

"I didn't even pack!" Paige grumped as she followed them all out. The place silenced any more grumps from her though. It was amazing. If she thought the manor was old, this was even older. The lights seemed to turned on themselves as they made their way towards the foyer of the house. Everything in it seemed old and – and elegant was the word that came to her mind.

"Oh, wow." Phoebe stared transfixed at the portraits on the wall. She had just reached out to touch it when the woman in the picture let out an unearthly shriek at her, jabbing a finger at her. Phoebe screamed in surprise, jumping back, clutching at the nearest person who happened to be Ron.

Harry chuckled at the expressions on their faces. "I'm sorry, we should have warn you. Welcome to wizarding England, where everything is either charmed or enchanted and will either come alive or float or talk or fly around."

"He's sounding like Dumbledore now," Ron whispered to Hermione who bit back a snort.

"You're allowed to use magic freely?" Wyatt asked in wonder, looking this way and that, expecting something wondrous to happen. Sadly, other than the shrieking woman in the portrait, nothing else happened.

"Only in the magic zone," Harry explained, leading them up the stairs to their rooms. "Magic are not allowed to be used before muggles or in public places. The less exposure of magic, the better. The muggles have no need to know there are flying cars or dragons are real."

"Dragons." Phoebe coughed nervously, recalling the dragon Wyatt conjured when he was barely a year old. "Heh."

"You have rules of using magic as well," Piper said, nodding sagely. "See, Wyatt, the rules of personal gain and magical exposure applies here as well." Wyatt rolled his eyes at his mother.

"This will be your room, Ms Halliwell." Harry opened the door to a room nearest to the stairs. He smiled at Phoebe. "It used to be shared by Hermione and Ginny when they stay over."

"Please, just call us by our names," Phoebe said, clearly delighted to have such a handsome young man's attention on her for once. "Ms Halliwell will sound confusing since they're two of us."

Harry showed Piper, Paige and Wyatt where they will be sleeping. Each room was equipped with the essentials of a bed, dresser drawer for the clothes, a trunk at the foot of the bed and a chair. The windows let the late evening light in, casting everything in grey shadows.

"Nice," Paige admired her tartan bedspread. She bounced on the bed a few times, trying to get a feel of it. "Not bad at all."

They made their way back downstairs to see a man with a flowing white beard and glasses standing at the steps, waiting for them. Although he looked old, there was a youthful twinkle in the eyes behind the glasses. Paige suddenly felt as if she was seeing Father Time for the first time, if Father Time looked like the man before them. His clothes were highly eccentric, nothing like what they have seen before, the robes seemed to flash a rainbow of colors whenever they swirled around him as he moved. The hat on top of his head would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but on him, it looked perfect, as if it was made for him.

"Ah, Piper and Phoebe Halliwell, Paige Matthews and Wyatt Halliwell." The man beamed up at them as they came down. "Welcome to England. I hope you had a pleasant trip. My name is Albus Dumbledore. Come, come, why don't we sit down at the kitchen and have some tea."

The sisters and Wyatt had been surrounded by magic almost their lives but they have never seen magic being so utilized freely here without the worry of a consequent. The kitchen seemed to spring to life as soon as they sat down in the chairs at the table. Fire sprang up at the stove merrily. The teakettle floated itself from the stove to the sink, its cap opening and the faucet turned itself, filling water from the tap into the teakettle. Meanwhile, the cabinets opened and tea cups (with tea appearing inside already) and saucers came drifting out from the shelves, lining themselves neatly before them all. The spoons followed from the drawers. A jar of milk, some cream, jam, a loaf of bread, butter, slices of cheese, butter and sugar appeared on the tabletop. It was an amazing sight for the sisters, one that was appropriately described as magical.

"Magic, magic, magic everywhere," Paige said, watching as the water boiled and the teakettle proceeded over to the table, pouring hot water into their teacups. The soothing aroma of camomile filled the air.

"Indeed, Ms Matthews, magic is everywhere." Dumbledore smiled at her, angling his head towards her direction. "You are one who is most intrigued by magic and most willing to delve into the craft."

They helped themselves to the food and tea.

"Why do you need us for?" Piper finally asked, sipping her tea.

"To help us in the coming war against the Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore answered simply. "You vanquished the Source before, someone with the same evil as Voldemort."

"In other words, get a bit more firepower," Wyatt said.

"There is a war coming up, Mr Halliwell," said Dumbledore gravely. "It concerns not just us but everyone who practices magic around the world. The very balance of good and evil depends on your hands."

* * *

Somewhere in the wizarding community of France, at a villa by the beach, the honeymooning couple were going at it like there was no tomorrow. It was their third day at this quaint little hideaway from the world and they were enjoying themselves immensely without the interruptions that were friends and family. The moon was incredibly bright tonight, shining its pale light down on sea, making thousands of tiny lights twinkle on the waves. The light streamed through the see muslin curtains that fluttered around the archways that served as doors to the balcony. The fire was crackling away in the stone fireplace at the end of the room. A tray of half eaten dinner sat on the ornately craved round table.

The room was large and opulent, something out of books or magazines. There was a Greek bust sitting on top pf the marble mantelpiece. Rose petals were strewn about all over the cool marble floor of the room, leading into the equally opulent bathroom and scattered about around the bed and on the bedspread. Everywhere were expensive pieces of furnishings and decorative pieces, most handmade, and none of them enchanted. Nobody wants a talking bust in the room. It would be distracting.

The young couple on the bed noticed none of the opulence the room offered or the lovely moonlight view outside. They were too busy on the bed doing things to each other that would put anyone to shame, should someone saw them. The bed was creaking wildly and there were loud moans and groans.

The woman arched her back in ecstasy at her partner's ministrations on her, eyes closed, head flung back with abandon. The man was as clearly as worked up as the woman although he seemed to control some himself somewhat.

"Ooh, yes, a bit lower, lower... Ahh!" The woman cried out. "Yes, like that, love."

"You're being all hot tonight," remarked the man, following her garbled instructions, sliding one pale hand lower down her thigh, slipping it under her rather thin, lacy nightgown.

"Shouldn't I?" She waggled her hips at him on the bed, at the same time jiggling her breasts under the nightgown she wore. If it can be called a nightgown, being all see through and all lace, leaving nothing to the imagination, and she was wearing no bra.

"Naughty, naughty, dearest." The man grinned at her before he proceeded to ravage her in an animalistic manner.

"Ahem... I beg your pardon?"

The woman's eyes snapped opened at the strange voice and her cries died in her throat as her head whipped around towards the fireplace to see a head and shoulders there. Her companion immediately cursed out loud, summoning the covers and throwing it over their half naked forms, embarrassed, shocked and startled all roll in one. His eyes were as round as tea saucers as he stared transfixed at the fireplace. The woman's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish gulping for air, unable to form words from her mouth. Instead, she gurgled sickly, still staring in stupefied horror at the fireplace.

"R-Ron!"

Ginny Weasley had never been so embarrassed and humiliated in her life. She was now sitting on the chair, having hastily pulled on one of Draco's shirts to cover her lace clad body. The hem of the shirt ended just mid thigh. She sat glowering in the chair, arms crossed, a murderous expression on her face. The light from the fire reflected in her brown eyes and brought out the colour of her rich red hair. She could hardly believed that her own brother had the audacity to come calling without warning. Her cheeks burned as she thought of how much he had seen and heard.

"Weasley, I'd swear, you'll find yourself growing warts instead of spots when I get back," Draco Malfoy said, waving a hand about. He had worked himself up cursing in French and Latin before calming down considerably. Still, the bust on the mantelpiece had found itself flung over the balcony down to the foaming sea below.

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy, as if there was anything to see," Ron said irritably. Even in the flames, Ginny could see that his face was as red as his hair. Good. He should be ashamed of himself.

"Why, didn't our little show turned you on a bit?" Draco suddenly grinned wickedly at the redhead.

"Malfoy!" Ron sputtered indignantly but he didn't deny it either. Ginny shuddered, not wanting to think her brother could be a perverted, peeping tom. She uncrossed her leg (careful not to give him an eyeful), coming to knelt by the fireplace, jabbing at her brother in the shoulder where she could see, hard.

"It must be of utmost important for you to interrupt our honeymoon," she said crisply. "Now, spit it out, Ron or I'll do what Draco said and give you warts."

"Pah, newlyweds," Ron grumbled. "Dumbledore said that it's most important both of you come back at once."

"But the wonderful offer to stay is still on for two days! We can't just up and go, we'll be forced to pay back the amount of two days' stay plus other expenses." Draco scowled. "Do you know how much I pay for this little gateaway, Weasley?"

"Draco, please." Ginny sighed, running a hand through her red hair. "All right, Ron. Let Dumbledore know we'll be back in London by tomorrow morning."

"Ginny!" Draco looked positively scandalized, as if he had been told that the Minister of Magic had just had sex with a monkey on his desk in his office.

Ginny grabbed his hand, giving it a hard squeeze of warning. He shut up at once, knowing better than to argue with her. She always come out top in their arguments. Ron grinned, made a whipping gesture and disappear from view. Draco childishly stuck out his tongue at the fireplace, even though Ron was no longer there to see it.

"Why did you tell we're going back tomorrow?" he demanded as soon as Ginny had gotten up and went to their trunks by the dresser drawers.

"Because, Dumbledore gave an order." She bend over, yanking open one drawer and baring her black clad lace bottom at him. He swallowed hard, suddenly remembering what they had been up to before they were rudely interrupted. "We're supposed to come as soon as an order is issued."

"Ginny," he began in a strangled tone, reaching for her.

Ginny turned, saw the hungry look in his eyes and smiled. She shut the drawer, leaned against it, lifting up one slender pale leg, running it up against the other, watching as her husband let out a groan. She tossed her head back, letting the mane of fiery red hair fell over her shoulders, looking at him from under her lashes, giving him her best 'come get me' look, unbuttoning the shirt one button at a time in an agonizingly slow manner.

Draco grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up and marching over to the bed. He threw her down on the covers, pining her slim wrists with his large hands. She looked up at him, a mischievous smile on her freckled face, her eyes dancing.

"Now, where were we?" he said to her.

* * *

Piper sat in the little kitchen later that night. Everyone had retired to bed a couple hours ago, worn out from the discussion they had. She place her head in her hands, feeling a migraine coming on. A powerful dark wizard was rising, trying to rule over the magical and non magical world. Another new Source to vanquish, another new war to win. Except this war was much more serious. The fate of the magical world depended on their victory. If they lose, everything they knew will fall spiraling down towards an endless darkness. That was what Dumbledore had said. Piper had been more adamant to go and rescue Chris, arguing ceaselessly with the old man before he finally silenced her with the gravity of the situation they were in.

Frustration, worry, anxiety and fear which had been pushed aside during the entire trip here threatened to swallow her whole. She wanted to blow something up, to vent her anger at anyone, anything at all. She was torn between crying hysterically and laughing madly at the situation she had found herself in.

"You don't need us to help you to defeat this warlock," she had said to Dumbledore. "You got him, don't you? He's supposedly the one who will vanquish the Dark Lord."

"Ms Halliwell, I think that you do not understand the gravity of our predicament here," said Dumbledore to her somberly. "Christopher's kidnap was no coincidence. The Dark Lord knows who he is and will use him as a leverage against us or turn him against us. You have no choice in this matter, Ms Halliwell. Like it or not, we are all fighting in the same war. Sacrifices are made in battle, whether we are ready to face it or not."

Piper felt something wet soaking between her fingers and she realized for the first time since that day, she was crying. Quiet, shuddering sobs that she couldn't seem to stop, no matter how much she tried to. She wanted Leo to be here instead of back there, taking care of things. She wanted his arms around her, whispering words of comfort in her ear like he always does, assuring her they were going to find Chris. She felt arms circled her, absently noted it was Phoebe holding her and poured her heart out into her sister's shoulder.

"It's okay, Piper, it's okay." Phoebe soothed, rubbing her back.

The eldest sister's sobs soon subside into hiccups. Piper wiped her eyes as she leaned back into the chair. Phoebe came around the table, sitting across her. The red polka dotted teapot flew towards her, tipping to one side as if to inquire whether she wanted tea.

"No thanks," said Phoebe, smiling a little then wondering if the teapot could see her smiling. It tipped to one side again as if acknowledging her and drifted back next to the teakettle.

"I'm sorry to have woken you up," Piper said, after recovering from her outburst. Her eyes were red from crying and there were shadows under them, indicating she had been unable to sleep and she was letting her worries getting the better of her.

"Don't be sorry, that's what sisters are for," Phoebe said airily, hoping to diffuse the heaviness around them.

"I'm a terrible mother," Piper began. "I let my son be kidnaped by some cult wearing black robes halfway across the ocean."

"Piper, stop." Phoebe put up a hand, hoping to stall her sister's tirade. "You're not a terrible mother. You're wonderful and kind and loving. Wyatt thinks you're fantastic and Chris just adores you. This wasn't your fault."

"How do you know it's not my fault? Maybe the crazy woman across the street cursed me because I didn't want to listen to her rambling about death."

"What, you mean, Old Aggie the fortune teller?" Phoebe's lips twitched. Piper frowned at her sister's undisguised smile. "Piper, you know better than to beat yourself up over something that woman says. She's not even a real fortune teller, and you and I know it. As for the death thing, she probably meant the Death Eaters coming, not death."

"Still, I could have prevented it somehow." Piper was staring morosely into her teacup, only half listening to Phoebe.

"Piper, listen to me." Phoebe grabbed her sister's hand. "You can't change the future or the past anymore than we can stop the boys from growing up. Things often happen without our knowledge and admit it, we can't just stop every big, bad evil out there if some fortune teller starts spouting nonsense to you. Like I said, she's not even a real fortune teller."

"You're jealous because she can make a living out false fortune telling while you can't make a living out real premonitions." The corners of Piper's mouth turned up into a smile.

"Okay, humor aside, don't worry so much." Phoebe gave her an earnest look. "Chris had always been able to come out top. He's not just any witch but a Halliwell witch. He'll be okay, I promise."

Piper bit her lower lip, nodding her head. She felt the twinges of anxiety inside but Phoebe's words and comfort made her feel better.

"Do you think it was wise, Professor?" Harry asked. Even after years of leaving Hogwarts, Harry couldn't still drop the habit of calling him by that title. "To bring them here, to join us in our fight against the Dark Lord."

"I would not say it was a wise decision or not, Harry," Dumbledore answered, gazing up at the stars in the sky above. "Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. What is done is done. The Charmed Ones are here, and they are more involved in this fight than they wish to. They cannot deny the fact."

"This war may be our first and last, won't it, Professor? I can feel it inside me." Harry grasped the stone railing, peering down at the street below. People who past by the house would give it no second glance, seeing nothing strange about it. "It's going to be fierce, and many lives are going to be lost in this war. I feel the people's expectations on me, much more than before."

"You've always carried the burden with you, ever since you were a mere baby, Harry. It has been your destiny to face the Dark Lord again." Dumbledore's tone was tired, sad even. "But remember, you do not carry it alone. You have your friends to stand beside you, they will be willing to bear the burden your carry, to help you up when you fall."

"And yet, in the end, I will have to do this alone." Harry's grip tightened, his eyes staring ahead. His shoulders had sagged wearily, of shouldering such responsibilities and duties that had been bound to him long before he can talk and know who he is.

Dumbledore place a hand on his shoulder, silently telling him he was not alone in this. The former headmaster of Hogwarts sighed quietly, a sound barely heard above the wind. Such a burden to be carried by someone so young, a burden that someone else should have carried instead. He felt pride as well, knowing Harry would see this through the end, and Harry's friends – old and new – will help him when in need.

"Not alone, Harry, not ever alone," he said softly, giving the shoulder a squeeze.

* * *

Paige turned away from the window where she had been standing for the last hour, staring out at the streets below and the people walking home in such a late hour. She had heard Phoebe heading downstairs earlier then come back up again, passing her room without a word. She knew it must have been Piper. While she wanted to go down to join them, comfort her sister, she didn't. Instead, she chose to remain in the room, staring out the window while Phoebe headed downstairs to sooth Piper. She couldn't. It had been partly her fault, and she was still wallowing in guilt of not being there at home when it happened. Instead, she had let Richard talked her into staying the night at his place, and looked what happened. Some mad cult in robes and waving wands broke into the manor and stole Chris right from under their noses. Bad enough Paige felt guilty, Piper didn't seem to blame her. Paige would rather have her sister scream at her right now than this unnerving forgiveness shown.

She headed back to her bed, flopping down on it, staring up at the ceiling now. The entire house was lit using torches along the walls. It made the room glowed a warm orange that soothed her out of sorts emotions. She had been more than thrilled to be here, in London, to discover it was one huge magical community she was staying at. Magic seemed to be everywhere when she turned to look. Talking portraits, floating teapots, talking mirrors (the one in her room had creeped her out when she stood before it). Everything here was worth a study, an examination of a closer kind. It would have been if the worry about her missing nephew wasn't hanging over her head. She was just as worried as her sisters and Wyatt but she hid it well behind quips and bad timing of humor.

Paige sighed heavily, climbing further into bed. She will try to talk to Piper tomorrow morning, she promised herself. She had to, or she'll be worrying like the worrywart that Piper was supposed to be. There wasn't much to do at the moment so she decided to get some shut eye.

* * *

"A broken toy is not much of a use to anyone, is it, Lucius, Peter?" Voldemort walked around the boy on the floor.

"Of course, my Lord." Lucius eyed his master warily. The Dark Lord was prone to doing things according to his whims and mood. It was best not to upset him too much, like what Wormtail did just now.

The fat man had paid with a hex which made his already not very handsome face covered with boils. He was now sitting at the corner, whimpering and begging for forgiveness from Voldemort for his insolence. Lucius let out a breath. Peter would never learn how to keep his mouth shut when needed. The only thing that redeemed the man had been his years as a rat in the Weasley house, gathering information and his traitorous betrayal towards the Potters.

The boy was now laying limp on the floor, the invisible cords having cutting through skin, coating the wrists and ankles with slick, wet blood. There was drying blood on the boy's lip where he had bitten down during the torture Voldemort had inflicted. His eyes were staring unblinking on the ceiling. Broken like a badly abused toy but still able to be fixed. Voldemort marveled at the boy's strong will and defiance at his torture. It wasn't until the last few hours that the boy's mind began to crumble, the walls broken down in rubbles, unable to hold up anymore.

"Nevertheless, it can be fixed up," continued the Dark Lord, stopping at the boy's head, peering down with the red coal eyes of his. "Repaired, made into new again."

Lucius kept silent, not wanting to get hex like Peter did. He simply waited and watched. Voldemort moved again so he was standing on the boy's right. There was some sort of expression on the bone-white face, akin to malice or cruelty. Lucius had always thought cruelty to be beautiful.

"You will be of much use for me, child," said Voldemort. "Your power of visions of the past, future and present."

The boy turned his head towards the Dark Lord, eyes hardening slightly, burning with hate. "I have no such power."

"Oh, but you do." Voldemort almost but purred, and Lucius was given a very disturbing image of a fat ginger cat wearing the chalk coloured face and red eyes. He banished the thought away hurriedly. "It just hadn't come to you yet. The Higher Powers have not granted this power to you, and yet, they give the power of empathy. Tell me, child, what do you feel?"

"Your spittle on me," answered the boy. "And your foul stench."

Peter made a sound like a strangled rat in the corner, eyes growing as round as tea saucers in terror at the boy's gall. Lucius shot him a warning glare, and the man fell silent.

Voldemort did not turn purple with rage. He seemed merely amused by the remarks. "I would advise against trying to make my blood boil, child. It will not do well for you to suffer another bout of the Cruciatus Curse. People have gone mad from prolong use of the curse before."

The boy squinted up at him. "Of course, you're mad as a Hatter as well."

Voldemort's left eye twitched slightly. "Your wit is trying, boy."

"Can't blame me for trying." The boy shrugged as best he could, considered he was bound to the floor.

"Perhaps it will do to inflict the curse on him again, Master?" Lucius suggested from his position by the mirror. "To shut him up."

The Dark Lord looked thoughtfully down at the boy who stared back at him boldly and unblinkingly. "No, it won't do at all, Lucius. I don't wish to break him or have him become a gibbering idiot like the Longbottoms. I much rather have him with his wits about."

Peter looked disappointed at not seeing the boy suffer anymore. The boy looked relieved but the relief was short lived.

"As I have said, child, you will be of much use to me." Voldemort pointed the wand at him. "_Imperio_!"

* * *

_The sun was shining down hotly from the cloudless sky. There was no wind and no other sound for miles around, and yet the grass seemed to ripple in the unseen and unfelt breeze. It didn't feel hot at all. In the middle of the meadow stood a tall oak tree, its branches reaching up high into the blue, cloudless sky. Its leaves rustled despite there was no wind. Everything stood out in vivid colors, the yellow swaying wildflowers which dotted the green sea of grass to the summer sky and the deep green of the leaves in the tree. Like something out a technicolor world where the artists had splashed on layers and layers of vibrant, vivid colors._

_Laughter drifted in the still air as two boys ran towards the tree. The older boy had hair that shone like spun gold, gleaming under the bright sunshine. His eyes were blue like the sky above. His mouth was turned up into a laugh as he raced towards the tree. The younger boy had hair like the rich color of earth beneath their feet. The green of the leaves reflected in his eyes, and he, too, was laughing as he followed the older boy. Both looked like picture perfect children._

_Reaching the tree, the older boy began to climb, while calling out encouragements to the younger boy. The younger boy grasped hold of the lowest branch, pulled himself up after the older boy. Higher and higher then two of them climbed up, hands grasping for hold, foot planted firmly for support, pulling and pushing. Somewhere during the climb, the older boy stopped, looked down to see four people had come to stand at the foot of the tree._

_Three women and a man. Their faces were all turned upwards and they all shared the same, bright smiles on their upturned faces. The plastic Barbie like smiles disturbed the boy. He continued climbing up until he heard a small choked sound below him. He peered down to see the younger boy holding on for dear life to the branch below, tears staining the round face, an unhappy look in the eyes. The younger boy's hands were cut and bleeding from the rough bark of the branches._

_Hold my hand, little brother and I'll pull you up, the older boy commanded kindly._

_I can't, my hands hurt, the younger boy sobbed. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to._

_The older boy watched in horror as the younger boy's hands, already slicked with blood, slipped, letting go of the branch. No! he shouted in despair._

_The younger boy's body was thrown apart from the tree and plummeted down to the earth below at blinding speed. The tree itself had somehow shot up during the climb for the ground now looked so very far away and the people below so small. The older boy let go of his hold as well, diving after the younger boy in a childish desperation that he might stopped him from falling any further if he caught him. The younger boy kept falling faster and faster while he was falling at normal pace. The ground was zooming up at them both at frightening speed. The younger boy hit the ground first with a sickening thud, black red blood pooling under the still broken body. He followed next, hearing the loud crunch of bones snapping then blackness then light and then, he was looking at the two bodies before him._

_Standing beside him were the four people who had turned to look at him. They still wore the same eerie smiles on their faces, as if what had just happened, they had seen it before. He darted to the broken bodies, cradling them in his arms, tears running down his face as he whipped his head around to face them, anger and horror and pain written across his face._

_Why didn't you help them? he shouted at them. Why?_

Wyatt jerked awake with a strangled cry stuck in his throat and tears wetting his cheeks. Disorientation filled him as he looked this way and that in the unfamiliar room he was staying in. It took him several heartbeats to finally remember where he was, the remnants of the dreams still remain in his mind. He held out a hand, made a motion and light up one of the torches along the wall. His heart was still pounding erratically in his chest. He ran a shaking hand through his blond hair, wiping away the wetness on his face as he took in several deep breaths in calm himself down.

The tight knot in the pit of his belly had tightened. As he stared at the flickering shadows on the walls, he came to one realization.

Chris was in terrible danger.

TBC...

**The-Cheese -Fairy - I have no idea as to what Paige did but just assume she did something for personal gain and got the magic rebounded back to her, like Phoebe always did. It was just a spur of the moment thing I put in for Piper to reprimand the boys. **

**charmedsisters - I'm glad you love it. I was afraid I might get flames for potraying both wrongly. I love HP/Charmed stories as well but really good ones are a dime a dozen.**

**andy20 - Your wish is my command! Two chapters for your enjoyment.**


	5. Chapter 5

- Chapter Five - 

The carriage flew through the morning sky, blue as the cornflowers, the sun shone down brightly. Paige had been fascinated to know the carriage was drawn by creatures known as thestrals. Skeletal horse like beings which come at the scent of blood. They are invisible to the naked eye. Only those who had a close brush with death would see them. The sisters could see them clearly; skin stretched over skeletal frames, leathery wings beating in the sky as blank eyes stared straight ahead. Paige was fascinated to know such creatures existed, and was grilling Harry who was seated beside her on the magical creatures over here in England. Piper had a mixture of revulsion and awe at the thestrals. Phoebe was uncomfortable at having their carriage drawn a hundred feet up in the air by the Grim Reaper's steed and voiced about it to Piper. Only Wyatt was quiet, staring out at the window, in deep thoughts.

They passed by green hills, grassy fields dotted with trees and bright flowers, some dotted with the year end's harvest standing like golden thatched huts among the green. It was a beautiful postcard scene, one which should have been enjoyed and taken in. The sisters and Wyatt were burdened with worries for Chris to enjoy such a view. They were woken up early this morning by Harry who told them Dumbledore wanted them moved to another safe house. One out in the country. Phoebe had thought of a farm with cows, chickens and pigs, and could see that she was not far off from the thought. She had always wanted to see the English countryside.

The thestrals landed on a dirt pathway leading up to the house they were supposedly staying for the duration they remain here. The Burrow, Harry told them fondly, after helping them down from the carriage. The thestrals snorted then leapt into the air, pulling the carriage high into the sky, disappearing among the cotton clouds.

The sisters and Wyatt goggled at the sight before them. Harry had obviously been here before for he seemed nonplussed about it, as if it was an everyday thing he see. The Halliwells, however, were still getting used to being around so much magic and its oddities, and the house before them takes the cake of being the strangest thing they've ever seen.

It stood at least three floors high, not counting the attic, if the window near the roof was an indication. It looked like it just came out of some children's storybook or an architect gone mad with designs. The house was whimsical, strange and just plain funny. Not that there was anything to laugh about. Judging from the windows around the building, it was cleared someone had gone decor happy with their wand, conjuring up new rooms to squeeze into the already tight space.

"What is that?" Phoebe asked – no, demanded, jabbing a finger at it.

"The Burrow," Harry replied. "It's where I stayed during the summer when I was still at school. Ron lives here with his family. Mrs Weasley have left for Romania for a holiday since last month. Only Mr Weasley is at home. He's at work at the moment. Come on then, only Ron and Hermione are home."

"Are you sure it's safe to go in?" Paige asked, hurrying after him, eyes still glued to the house. "Won't it just, well, fall?"

Harry lead them round the back, pushing open the door, into the kitchen. "Welcome to the Burrow. My second home," he said with a flourish.

The kitchen was quaint was how Piper would describe it. It felt homely and lived in, the spots and stains on the floor speaking of the children who lived here coming and going, it told her of the Christmas dinners cooked and stories shared here and the lively debate taking place at the table. Paige saw the magic teeming in the place, could already sensed it in the air when she set foot inside. The brushes scrubbing the copper pots and pans clean in the sink by themselves, the water rinsing them clean off grease and grime. The teakettle boiling merrily away on the stove and the bacon sizzling in the pan which flipped the bacon up to its other side to be cooked evenly. There was a clock which instead of numbers showed the names of each child of the house with hands pointing to words from 'travel' to 'home' to 'work'.

"Fascinating," Paige murmured, studying the clock more closely. It was like a tracking device for the entire family, letting members at home know where they are at without worries.

"Take a seat," said Harry, gesturing at the table. "I'm going to let Ron and Hermione know you're all here." He disappeared up the stairs.

"Nice place, kind of homey." Phoebe sat down at the table. Paige took the seat across her and Piper sat next to Wyatt.

The table top was worn with use and there were various stains on it which even the strongest cleaning spell were unable to removed. One looked like a blob of ketchup while another looked like some sauce or other.

"Not bad to live in a place where magic can be used freely," Paige remarked, to them or to herself they weren't sure. Out of the sisters, Paige still wanted to be able to use magic without consequences.

"They use only around places where magic can be used," Wyatt pointed out. "Besides, Harry did mention they can't use it outside of the magical community."

"Oh, you're all here already," Hermione said, coming down the stairs, followed closely by Ron and Harry. "Just in time for some breakfast then. I'm sure you're all hungry. How was the trip?" she said it all in one breath as she made her way to the stove to check the bacon.

"It was creepy," Phoebe replied. "The, ah, Grim Reaper's horses pulling the carriage."

"Ah, you meant the thestrals," Ron said knowingly. "Luckily, I can't see them. Only if you sort died and come back to life again then you'll be able to see them."

"Sort of died?" Hermione asked crisply. "Honestly, Ron, what kind of explanation is that?"

"Better than your word for word narration from books," retorted Ron, sitting down next to Wyatt. He gave the twice blessed a wink, enjoying himself in irking her. Wyatt smiled. "You're the only person I know who read _Hogwarts: A History_ from cover to cover."

"Some people have more important educational matters in mind than Quidditch and girls," sniffed Hermione primly, using her wand to direct the eggs over the pan. The eggs cracked themselves on the side of the pan and poured themselves into it to be cooked. The shells were then discarded into the bin. All done in one swish of the wand.

"Quidditch?" Wyatt questioned.

"Oh, no," Hermione groaned, not at the eggs for they are turning out nicely but at Wyatt. "You shouldn't say that. He'll give you ten years' worth of Qudditch history."

"I am not!" Ron snapped. "I have better restraint than someone I know."

Harry sat down next to Paige who leaned over to whisper to his ear. "Are they always like this?"

"Everyday of their lives," Harry replied. "You'd think after being engaged, they'll settle down a bit but it seems to have created some sort of spark between them."

"Wedding jitters," Phoebe said knowingly.

"Wyatt, is something wrong?" Piper asked, seeing how quiet he had been since he woke up.

"I don't know, Mom. I just have a bad feeling about something." Wyatt sighed. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Oh, sweetie, we're worried for Chris as much as you do," Paige said, reaching over and patting his hand.

"I know you do." Wyatt smiled weakly at them all. The remnants of the dream refused to leave him alone. Of Chris diving down to the ground below, his family standing to one side with frozen plastic smiles, letting him be. He shivered, banishing the thoughts way.

Piper was about to say something but was interrupted when Hermione began to serve up breakfast. The heavenly smell enticed a rumble from Ron's stomach to which he flushed in embarrassment. Somehow that relieved the heavy air and everyone dug into their plates.

* * *

Traveling by Floo Network was the most improper manner, meant for the more commonly wizards, not for someone like him. Not only do you need to use the powder in a lit fire grate, you need to shout the proper name of your destination. You arrived at the destined fire grate all sooty, with soot in your hair, under your fingernails and even in your underwear. Draco Malfoy cursed whoever invented such a way of travel when he landed head over heels, coming to a stop on his back in the pristine floors of his apartment, getting soot everywhere. He lifted his head, eyeing Ginny suspiciously as she stood there, dusting her robes carelessly. Only a smudge touched her cheek. Otherwise, she looked as if she had just actually Apparated here, instead of travel by Floo with him.

"How did you get so– so soot free?" he demanded, getting up, performing a simple cleaning spell to get rid of the soot.

"It takes skill to travel by Floo, my dear," she answered smugly, whirling away from him, her shoes making clomping noises as she headed towards the stairs. "Are you sure the porter said our luggage will arrive shortly?"

"Yes, yes." Draco followed her. "He send them right after he saw us off. What is the hurry? We're not going to report back until tomorrow."

"No, but I do so want to see Ron," she said from the bedroom. "Didn't you wan to give him warts?"

"Warts. Bah." He caught up with her, giving her a devilish smile. "I'll give him the Bat-Bogey hex as well if that's what you wanted."

"Not now, Draco." Ginny wriggled free from his grasp. He pouted like a petulant three year old who had just been told there was no Santa Claus. She giggled at his expression. "We'll have plenty of that. I promised we'd report to Dumbledore as soon as we arrive."

"You know," said Draco, "there's a chance the old dingbat might be tuning to The Beatles in his underwear at the moment or – " his voice dropped lower " – he might be having hot, monkey sex with McGonagall."

Ginny's face screwed up in disgust but her eyes were dancing with mirth. "Draco Malfoy, that is just yucky."

"So, you won't be haring off to his place now?" A hopeful tone that was begging for her to stay and let them make up for the lost two days with mad sex.

"Actually, I am. Might be interesting to see if he's actually having earth shaking, passionate sex with McGonagall." Ginny grinned evilly, heading downstairs.

Draco stood rooted to the spot for a minute before he pelted after her frantically. "Ginny! You can't be serious! I'm coming with you, do you hear me, Ginny? I'm coming with you!"

With that he pelted after her into the fire grate just as she called out the destination name. With a loud whoosh and fiery explosion, they vanished from the grate.

* * *

Leo Wyatt was not having as much a good time as one would imagine. He had stayed Up There for the duration of the day after he had seen the sisters and his son off to England, discussing pointlessly, uselessly with the rest of the Elders on the looming threat. As usual, they were divided with their will not to intervene and to intervene. The debate had gone on for hours on end with no visible results and no closer to getting any help at all for the sisters. You would think, Leo thought irritably, that after the fiasco with Gideon, they would have come to their senses.

Perhaps it was proof that living Up There for so long has cloud their judgment against the good. It made them complacent, less likely to involve themselves in the matters of the mortal realm, always see things in the good side and for their selfish use. None of them seem to realize the threat over their heads. Words were going round and round like the carousel in the fair, repeating itself to a point of tediousness and boredom. Leo wanted to cry from it all. Most of all, he wanted to get up, shout at them, kick a few chairs around and just throw a temper tantrum unlike a three year old's. It was childish he knew, but if it got their attention, so much the better.

"Listen," he began, trying to keep his patience from running out. "Listen to me."

The garble went on, ignoring him. He took a deep breath, slowly uncurling his fists. It took Leo a long time to get angry and when he did, even the sisters stay away from him. He brought his hands down on the wooden table, smacking it loudly with his palms, making everyone jump. Finally, he thought in satisfaction as everyone's eyes turned on him in surprise.

"Leo, what is the matter with you?" one of the Elders, Johnson, barked at him, irritated at being interrupted in his grand speech.

"What's the matter with me? What is the hell matter with all of you!" he nearly shouted. "My family's lives are in danger, my son was just kidnaped by a dark wizard bent on ruling the world, hundreds of lives are at stake and all you can say is what is the matter?" The last part did ended in a shout.

Some of the Elders cowered, taken aback by the sudden outburst from the mild mannered man. The rest murmured among themselves, darting him looks which can be lumped in the category of 'Unfit'. Well then, he might as well just gone mental for all he cared.

"Leo, please, restrain yourself," Jonhson said in a patronizing tone meant for a toddler in a tantrum.

"While all of you are debating here in your cushy chairs, my family is down there searching for the whereabouts of my boy," Leo said, ignoring him. "I've told you that the Dark Wizard is rising and he intends to take over the magical world, blithely destroy anyone who stops him which includes The Charmed Ones and Harry Potter. Wasn't Harry Potter Rory's charge? Is he ready to take on the Dark Lord?" he directed the question at where the Whitelighters sat.

Rory, a mild mannered, freckled face Whitelighter stood up in reverence at being addressed. When he spoke, his tone told of the soft lilt of his original birthplace. "He was born to meet with the Dark Lord. I feel that is ready for it, with his friends by his side and the formidable Charmed Ones."

"Thank you, Rory." Leo smiled at him kindly. The Irish Whitelighter's face flushed as red as his hair as he sat back down.

"Still, what reasons do we have in assisting them?" another Elder demanded pompously. "The magical world has always been able to defend itself for decades. I see no reason to meddle in mortal business that is not ours."

"It is our business when we're the ones who answer to them!" Leo insisted. "We're supposed to protect all the good magic in the world, the witches and all magical creatures. They will come to us for help and protection when it comes to this. Or have you all forgotten who it was that helped us from being killed by the Titans? You all owe me for saving your assess back then and keeping all your heads on your shoulders."

"Are you trying to blackmail us into helping you, Leo?" Johnson's voice was now disdainful and angry. "It will not get you anywhere."

"But Leo is right," said Rebecca, standing up. She cast Johnson a look that silenced his protests. "If it were not for him and the sisters last time, half of us would have been dead. Help was given to us when we least expected it. We owe it to them this much."

"Thank you, Rebecca," Leo said gratefully.

"Rebecca! This is preposterous! I refuse to allow it!" Johnson shouted. "We owe them nothing! The rules!"

"Forget the rules!" another Elder cried out. "Rebecca is right!"

"Don't be foolish, Simon. Johnson is right, we owe them nothing. Not after what happened to Gideon..."

At once a great debate sounded, voices raised, tension thick in the air as the Elders were torn between agreeing with Rebecca and Johnson. Half wanted to offer help and refuge, the other half refused. Bound by the rules they made, they blatantly refused to break away from the very rules which they followed. And to hear someone still supported Gideon after all the years... Leo fumed, glowering at them, his patience already stretched too thin.

"Enough!" he roared.

Stunned silence fell over them. As one, all pairs of eyes turned towards him, wide with disbelief. No one said anything. In the silence, Leo could hear their breathing only. He gave them a look each, staring at them levelly, showing his disapproval and distrust on his face.

"If you won't help me or them... So help me, if anything happened because of your not helping, I will come up here and make you regret this." Leo turned to leave.

"Is that a threat, Leo?" Johnson finally found his voice. It was thin like ice, cold like the first frost.

Leo's voice and demeanor was even colder when he half turned, glaring at the Elder. "Think of it as a warning." With that he orbed out.

* * *

Arthur Weasley shut the door to his rented room for the night at the Leaky Cauldron. He had just gotten off work at The Ministry. After his announcement, as he had predicted, the magical community seemed to flailed with panic at the thought of the Dark Lord's coming attacks. The Fieldses had been there when he gave out his speech of pacifying the people. Liam Fields had given him a dirty look like he was a bug to be squashed and left, dragging poor Maggie along with him, all the while loudly proclaiming the Ministry will offer no protection to 'them common folk' as he called it. It was Wendell who finally had everything under control, stating they have prepared a sanctuary outside the country should the war arrived, the people will be evacuated accordingly and safely. After that had been more shouted questions and flashes of the cameras as Arthur left, Apparating himself to the Leaky Cauldron for solitude.

He wasn't worried about Molly, seeing that she was safe in the far remote of Romania where Charlie currently was, along with the twins who had followed. Bill was still in Egypt, rather far from any threat of Death Eaters attack. Besides, where he was, it was unplottable. Bill can take care of himself as do Percy who was still at the currently upside down Ministry. He smiled slightly, knowing Percy will be up his nose with questions and work. No, he was concerned for his two youngest; Ronald and Ginny. Both will be in the line of duty and danger as Aurors. Ginny, however, was on a honeymooning in France somewhere with his newest son-in-law, Draco Malfoy. If anyone ever told Arthur, he'd have a Malfoy as a son-in-law, he would have laughed. Except he was not laughing nor was he as angry as he thought he might. Malfoy had proven himself worthy as Dumbledore's secret undercover agent with his mother. Everyone had been surprised to find they were against the Dark Lord.

Needing to hear a certain voice and see the face, Arthur dropped his coat onto the bed, dropped into a chair before the fireplace, took a handful of powder and tossed it into the grate. "Romania. Charlie Weasley's tent," he said.

The sound of crackling like phone line over long distance can be heard. Minutes later, the fire burned green and bright and the head and shoulders of his beloved wife appeared.

"Hello, Molly," he said.

"Arthur."

* * *

Much to Draco's disappointment, Albus Dumbledore wasn't having mad, passionate sex with McGonagall. He would have given a hundred galleons to see the dirty but sadly, he had to make do with the former headmaster sitting in his library having tea and scones. To his utter disgust, the fire grate which he and Ginny came through was filthy and needed cleaning badly. Both were covered in soot, not even Ginny was spared. He would have made a smart remark except he was too busy dusting himself futilely. He left black powder from the sitting room all the way upstairs to the library.

"You'd think he'd clean out the fire place once in a while," he grumped to her as they made their way towards the library.

Dumbledore's home, while not as impressive as the Manor, was just as lovely. The walls were painted in cream where portraits of wizards hung, dating from Merlin to Nicholas Flemmel. The wizards were moving from one portrait to another to chat up with old friends and to exchange old stories of the old days when magic was used freely without a worry. The ceilings rose high up to disappear into the shadows above. Torches lit the rooms, giving it a warm glow that was almost homely. Ginny's shoes made loud pock, pock sounds on the cool, grey marble floor. They stopped at the high double oak doors, Ginny lifting a hand and rapped on it.

"Come in," came the reply from inside.

They pushed open the door, entering the room, a bit awkwardly because of the soot they were leaving on the nice, plush carpet. The library was like Malfoy Manor's but nicer, more warm. Here, floor to ceiling shelves were crammed with books of imaginable sizes, the racks bent from the weight. There were books dating back to the old days of Merlin to modern times. Books on the history of magic, on spells of every kind, on potions, on magical beasts and creatures ever known. There were also several non-magical books on muggle history. The fireplace kept the room warm and well lit, showing Dumbledore sitting on a cushy chintz armchair with a cup of tea in hand and a scone in the other.

"Doesn't look like he's having much of an anything now, does he?" Ginny whispered to her companion with a mischievous smile.

Draco huffed at her, finding to his distress his hand came away all sooty when he brushed his hair back. He was going to have a long soak in the bath later. Cleaning spells won't do for this case.

"Ms Weasley, Mr Malfoy," said Dumbledore cordially.

"Good evening, Professor," said Ginny politely. She was still in awe of the man, after all he had been the one who can stand up to the Dark Lord.

"Come, have a seat. Tea?"

"Oh, no thank you." Ginny smiled, shaking her head. She sat down on the sofa opposite his. Draco took his customary place beside her.

"You've said it was something of utmost importance to summon us back here," Draco said without much preamble.

"Indeed." Dumbledore set down his delicate China teacup. He waved a hand and a thick sheaf of paper bound by ribbons appeared on the table. "Have a look through while I explain to you both what has been going on in the last few days."

TBC...

_AN: The Floo travel was what I got from the second movie when Harry stood in the fire grate and shouted the name of the destination. Of course, one mispronounciation meant flooing off to god knows where. I don't know if it's the same in the books as well._


	6. Chapter 6

_Ah, sorry guys that it took so long. I was losing my inspiration for this story for a while and only managed to get back to it. So, don't worry. It's still ongoing. This chapter's a bit shorter than the rest and it took me a while to get everything all out for this chapter. _

**- Chapter Six -**

"Isn't he a sight to behold," crooned the Dark Lord as he circled around his new toy. His heavy, velvet, dark robes swished about his legs, the sleeves fluttering with his movements as he tilted his head aside in what may be an innocent, curious gesture. Never mind that he lacked innocence but radiate pure evilness.

Chris stood in the center of the chamber, under the Imperius Curse, recently washed and now decked in rather fine, slightly opulent clothes provided by Voldemort. No slave of his was going to come off looking like he had just been digging through the discount bin at some cheap discount stores.

Frankly, Lucius thought the boy looked just ordinary. The shirt was black silk, the pants (as with every villain) was black as well and made of dragon hide. The robe that Voldemort bestowed on the boy was black (what else) velvet, a gold clasp the figure of a skull and snake threading through one eye socket contrasting sharply against all the blackness of it.

Wormtail, laid on the stone floor, stupefied and with a rather stupid expression on the pudgy face. He'd been hit with the spell earlier by Voldemort when he started complaining on how he wasn't getting enough appreciation for doing the extra work in taking the boy to the bath and why did his Lord chose to dress a muggle in such clothes? Lucius was glad for the silence once more. The man's complaints was starting to grate on him.

"And Peter, it will do well for you to just shut your mouth for once. It is rather tiresome to be questioned by one who is as dimwitted as a lemming," said Voldemort, pausing momentarily in his admiration for his new slave. "Then you won't even have to be Stupefied." Not that Wormtail could hear him at the moment.

"My Lord?" Lucius, with a swish of his own robes, came forward, bowing slightly. "May I be as bold as to ask what you intend to do with the boy now that you have him under your control?"

"There are many potentials I see for him," Voldemort said, finishing his inspection. He now stood before the boy, eyes narrowed in that thoughtful manner, an almost gleeful but malicious smile spreading across the chalk-white face. "He has the power of divination. To see into the future. I want to see whether Harry Potter has been made into the throw rug I want for my room. I want to see myself ascending to the throne. I want the Charmed Ones killed."

"Not that I doubt him incapable of killing the witches, but is he capable to doing so?" Lucius asked.

"Well, then we shall find out now, shall we?" Voldemort's grin, if possible, grew even wider.

The dragons were restless tonight, he thought. He could hear them pacing about behind the protective wards they'd put up; their breaths coming out in puffs of grey smoke and ash. They were uneasy about something. He could sense it in his veins as well. Something big was coming. Something was happening around them, a force to be reckon with and it made feeling of dread coiled around in the pit of his stomach.

Charlie Weasley looked up into the rapidly darkening sky, feeling the chill in the air seeping into his bones, despite the heavy jacket he wore. His mother was still in her tent, talking to his father who had called unexpectedly. He'd heard catches of it; something was happening back home, and it had made his worried enough that he would call his mother.

The sense of foreboding grew.

Suddenly, Charlie wished he was anywhere but here. Back home, at least, he might be able to keep tabs on the Ginny and Ron. The two were caught up in the web that was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Harry Potter. He'd known the war was coming, but it still felt like it was too soon.

Giving the sky one last look, he strode back into his tent.

Wyatt Halliwell was the twice-blessed. He was granted with powers that were beyond the Warren-Halliwell lines. He was exceptional gifted and wise beyond his years (though his younger brother might have a say in that matter). He was the one who will bring about the greater good of magic. He was also the one who was doing the dishes with one of his aunts at the moment.

Why, he thought sourly, should he be even scrubbing the pan when those brushes can scrub it themselves? Wasn't that what magic was for?

"You okay, Wyatt?" asked Phoebe.

He remembered who he was next to. His aunt was nothing, if but perceptive. She didn't need her empathy to see what's eating you inside. That was what made her such a great advice columnist.

"Peachy. I'm doing dishes when I can be doing something like, oh, looking for a certain baby brother of mine who's been kidnaped by some evil overlord." Wyatt banged the pot against the sink a little too hard. He was worried, and the worry was going to give him ulcers and he thought Chris was the worrywart with the ulcers. The dream was disturbing, he didn't want to even look deeper into it or find out more. He wanted nothing more to charge right up to doorstep to confront the guy who took his brother, except he had no clue as to where the guy is or what he looked like.

"Wyatt," his aunt said, her tone tinged with weariness. So, she was tired and worried as well. Everyone was.

The atmosphere was high strung, tensed. Like a violin string wound up too tight and ready to snap. He could hear Harry and the others discussing something in low tones, out of earshot. He had the feeling they were keeping something from him and his family.

"Aunt Phoebe, what are we doing here?" he asked tightly. "Why are we here?"

"Because Dumbledore said..." Phoebe began only to be cut off.

"I know what he said," cut in Wyatt. "This isn't our war. This isn't even our turf. Why are we here, helping them when we could be out there looking for Chris, maybe scrying for him."

"No, you're right. It's not our war," Phoebe said, turning the tap off, setting the plates on the rack to dry. "This isn't even our place to be, to help them or fight against the Dark Lord but it will be soon enough. We're here not because we have much of a choice. We're here because we have to. This is a war that's going to involve us, whether we want to be involve or not, and we already are."

"We always never have a choice, don't we?" Wyatt asked tiredly. He rested the palms of his hands on the sink's edge, looking out at the window at the noontime sun. "It's always by the force of hand that we get involve in this huge mess, and we always end up way over our heads." He let out a short laugh. "Chris was right. Trouble is never far from the Halliwells."

"It's our destiny."

"To fight evil until the day we die of old age like everyone normal does or we got vanquished by some demon." Wyatt gave her a wry smile. "Yeah, it's destiny, all right. Just not the way we wanted." He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. "Like it or not, we're in deep with this already."

Phoebe nodded.

Ron Apparated to London's uptown, to an apartment at the very edge of the magical community. He hadn't been there before. Not even when Ginny had moved in with Malfoy. There hadn't been much time, and frankly, he would rather not set foot into an abode of Malfoy's at all but this time, he had no choice. He'd heard from Harry that Dumbledore had finished his meeting with them both and they had Flooed home hours ago but had yet to make their grand appearance at the Burrow. Surely they knew the urgency of the matter? Unless they were caught up in make up sex which he had so conveniently interrupted last night.

His face flushed as red as his hair when he remembered what had happened last night. He didn't need a reminder of that. Seeing his sister and Malfoy all over each other was enough to last him an entire lifetime. Not for the first time, he wondered what had Ginny saw in that git. Draco Malfoy was not Harry Potter, neither was he like Ron. Malfoy had this malicious glee about him, a dark sense of humor and rather sharp tongue. He said things that can leave you feel like someone had stomped all over your fragile heart to pieces and would not even be sorry about it all. Malfoy was not the kindest person Ron knew, the boy was selfish and yet, he can surprise you with the unexpected act of kindness that he was quick to dismiss.

And yet, to Ron's puzzlement, Ginny seemed to be mad over him. Mad enough to marry him, much to the Weasley brothers's utmost dismay. Arthur and Molly didn't seem overly concerned about it; what Ginny does, is her business, not theirs. Of course, it didn't helped that Malfoy had charmed the socks of Ron's mother, and the git was an Auror as well. Score brownie points for him then.

The flat was simple decorated without the ostentatious objects that most of the rich would proudly show. There was Ginny's faint touches to the decoration here and there; flowers on the table, photos on the mantelpiece and wall. Otherwise, the place was very much lived-in and just nice. Surprisingly. Ron had expected Ming vases or leather sofas on.

"Ginny!" he called, stepping further into the living room. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtain, creating warm pools of light on the carpeted floor. Double doors lead outside to the patio to the view of greenery.

Instead of Ginny, Ron blinked when a something small and furry came out to greet him. It was rather unexpected and he wondered for a moment if his sister or her husband had gone mad. After all, why would you get something that would remind you of the bitter memory of being turned into a ferret?

"Ron, is that you?" Thankfully, this time, Ginny did appear. She looked as if she had just finished a bath, her hair was damp against her back, the ends curling slightly.

"What is that?" he asked immediately, pointing with some incredulity at the beast before him.

It cocked its furred head to one side, nose twitching as it peered up at him.

"It's a ferret," she answered in a matter of fact way. "You have seen one before, if I recall. One that bounced down the stairs of Hogwarts?"

"I know what it is," he snapped at her, ignoring her blatant amusement. "What I want to know is, why is it here? Did you turn Malfoy into a ferret?"

"Of course not," Ginny retorted, face turning into a scowl. "As if I would turn him into such a thing, and that reminds me that I owe you a hex, Ron. You are just a shameless person, aren't you?"

Ron spluttered in indignation at his sister, mouth opening and closing, trying his hardest to get words out but failed to do so. The ferret made a noise, as if it was amused by the redhead's sudden lack of vocabulary.

"Ah, shuddup, you," he managed to get out, at the ferret. Ginny smothered a laugh behind her hands as Malfoy finally appeared.

He took one look at Ron and raise a perfect eyebrow at him, expression bland. "Weasley talking to animals again? Potter and Granger must be poor company if you resort to such eccentrics."

"Bugger off, Malfoy," grumbled Ron. "You both were taking such a long time coming that I had to come over here to remind you."

"We were just about to go over," Ginny said hastily. "I'll put Ronald in his cage. Blaise will come over later to pick him up."

"What a minute... Ronald! You named the bloody animal after me?" Ron all but shouted, clearly outraged at the thought. He wasn't sure whether to be insulted or flattered that they chose to name it after him.

"Is it a problem with you, Weasley?" asked Malfoy, humor in his tone. "I'd feel that it is an honour to be named after someone, especially a Weasley. Ginny wanted to call him Bill, you see but I swayed her to Ronald."

"Malfoy, I have a good mind to punch your lights out, you smug git," said Ron, without any meaning behind the words.

"As do I, Weasley. As do I." The blond nodded solemnly.

What he would give to wring the guy's neck.

Paige had scried for more than an hour, right after breakfast. The crystal kept swinging round and round above the map she had spread out on the coffee table. It looked like it wasn't going to drop on a location anytime soon, and her arm was starting to cramp. Piper had tried for a Lost Witch spell which did nothing and left the eldest sister in frustration. Piper was now sitting in the armchair, a scowl on her face, arms crossed, looking like she might commit murder at any second. Paige let out a breath, dropping the crystal on the table in resignation.

"Well," she said brightly. "Wherever he is, it's probably cloaked. I can't get a location on him at all. Maybe you should try the spell again?"

"I tried four times and all I got was nothing," snapped Piper.

"Geez, don't bite my head off." Paige stood up, stretched and flopped onto the sofa in relief. Her back was starting to ache from the bent over position for too long.

"Sorry," Piper said contritely. "I just want to find my son. I'm worried, I'm frustrated and I'm helpless. I don't even know what's happening to him."

"Chris can handle himself, Piper," she said gently. "He's not that helpless baby anymore. He's grown up, and if he's capable to vanquishing high level demons, he's certainly capable of taking care of himself in the hands of an evil megalomaniac."

Piper had a stern look of irritation on her face, although the corners of her mouth twitched. "You're right. But I'm his mother. I still worry. I don't want to lose him... again."

"Neither do I. So, I'm going to just get something of his and scry for him again," said Paige decidedly. "Be back in a few." She orbed out, leaving Piper alone in the living room.

The boy walked down the bustling street. To the other wizards, he looked ordinary enough. He was tall, brown hair that was in want of a cutting, clear green eyes. No one seemed to notice him. In fact, no one paid any attention to him at all.

That is, until the boy brought up both hands in an unfamiliar gesture. He flicked his wrists, and chaos descended upon Diagon Alley.

In the kitchen, Wyatt's head whipped up and he got a horrifying vision of people running, screaming, flames licking at them.

"Wyatt, what is it?" Phoebe asked anxiously, sensing a premonition from him.

"Chris."

TBC...


End file.
